


Courtly Love

by WandererRiha



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Backstory, Dancing, F/M, Fighting, Fraternization, Gen, Knights - Freeform, OC, Obscure History, War, Women in the Military, discrimination wtf, gender equality, minor gore, mush, nearly medieval, six mighty knights, social equality, suikoden III - Freeform, the military STILL cannot girls, the military cannot girls, the trouble with rank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In days of old, knights sought the favor of ladies they admired through feats of bravery, poetry, ballads, and acts of valor. In fairy tales, the beggar maid charms the prince with her beauty, grace, and purity of heart. What then, will bring two old soldiers together, one a consummate bachelor and the other a sword-wielding old maid?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the players are introduced and the stage is set. Waiting around to fight is boring, and a couple of squires get the wrong idea.

Summer ought to be regarded as a stalemate season as well as winter. It was too bloody hot for this sort of thing. Not that there had been any actual _fighting_ recently. The Zexen troops had been having a staring contest with the opposing forces for the past four weeks. No one had blinked yet. Her troops still milled about in the dusty heat, doggedly keeping up with camp duties, eager for an excuse to do anything else even if it meant burying a blade in human flesh. But no order had come from Percival. He still sat waiting for an order from Lady Chris who sat waiting and order from the Zexen Council who were waiting for the Lizards to make a move and Goddess only knew what THEY were waiting for. After eighteen years as a knight and another fifteen as a squire and foot soldier, Aurella understood the wisdom of allowing one’s opponent to make the first move in such a situation. But that did not lessen the heat or the boredom that lay thick upon the camp. She herself was beginning to feel like a stuck goose simmering insider her own armor. If she were anywhere else she would have abandoned the iron overcoat but she and her soldiers were stationed at the front and so it had to remain on.

Aurella sighed and watched the armored young men under her command trudging between tents and couldn’t suppress the old bitter tang that rose in her heart. The bloody heat wouldn’t be so bad if she and the older women had had shorter jackets like the men and younger women, but no, first few women had been sent into battle wearing skirts. _Skirts!_ That’s what they amounted to. The original design of a lady’s jacket had the hem hanging level with a soldier’s calf, theoretically to conceal the scandalous distraction of a woman’s trousered leg. Aurella rolled her eyes to herself. The extra-long coattails served no other purpose than to float decoratively in strong winds or wrap themselves about one’s ankles when attempting to run. The style had been modified a bit over the years so that in front the legs were free. She remembered the fuss _that_ had caused. As if there were any more to see of her legs beneath a thick knee-length tunic, baggy trousers and heavy boots. Still, decorum and discrimination persevered and she and Felicia and the other woman too poor to afford new jackets must ride into battle in modified gowns. Sighing inwardly, Aurella looked over at her young squire. Felicia’s butter blond braids, done up in imitation of Zexen’s Silver Maiden, lay fair and fuzzy from sun and wind on her head. Felicia had two more years before she could be knighted. At only sixteen she was still stretched and narrow beneath her armor, leggy and coltish from growing not yet finished. She was becoming quite the beauty, gold to Lady Chris’s silver. No one would accuse her being weak or loose because she chose to cultivate her modest beauty. A small, motherly smile stole across Aurella’s lips. Felicia would not have to put up with the kind of nonsense she had and for that she was grateful. 

Turning her gaze towards the western border of camp Aurella noted Sir Percival seated at a camp table reviewing a sheaf of papers. With heat and boredom this heavy she supposed even paperwork had become a welcomed distraction. He was young, younger than she had been, and yet he was Lieutenant-General and an excellent one at that. Once just a common boy, and now he was one of the Six Mighty Knights and commander of his own troops. He had proven himself more than worthy of his name and title. He was a good leader as well as a good man. Aurella couldn’t help the twinge of spiteless envy. He was a boy yet, in her eyes. While he was a strong and capable leader, it felt strange to take orders from someone young enough to be her son. It was her own imposed shortcomings that pinched her insides with shame for coveting a position that was not hers to desire. The Zexen army had indeed gone out of its way these past thirty years to show her that this was in no way her place. A woman’s place was in the kitchen, or the parlor, or perhaps the market. _Never_ the battlefield. Yet here she was, despite it all, one of the first of Zexen’s female soldiers. There were others now, younger women who served alongside her and the men. No one bothered the young women much outside of the usual pranks and good-natured teasing. However, their predecessors still faced ridicule even after all this time. The present had not yet caught up with the past. Ah well. It didn’t really matter now. She had other things to worry about.

Another few years and the Zexen army would be retiring her- since she wasn’t likely to be promoted any further- sending her away to enjoy her remaining days with a home and family she did not have. She would have to beg- either for work, or for a husband- in order to live. Which was worse, Aurella was unsure. Certainly no man would ever have one of the original “Lady Guard” for his wife, much less such a grizzled old hen like her. She would be of no use in anyone’s bedchamber, or kitchen, or parlor. Most likely she would be reduced to mucking stables or scrubbing laundry. Either way, it would be the final stroke, the last humiliation. She would never be able to hold her head up again.

But that was a matter that could be worried over later. Hoof beats were approaching, slow and measured. Someone was riding but without haste from the friendly edge of camp. Turning her head Aurella noted Lieutenant-General Lord Leo Gallen and his massive black stallion amble up the grassy track and between the rows of low canvas tents. Seven years her junior, Aurella had never had much of an opinion either way concerning Lord Gallen. She had, technically, worked with the man before, but always at a distance. She had never spoken two words to him outside of the bartering of orders. Indeed, Lord Gallen himself was loathe to waste words and usually confined his speech to orders and reports. It was a strategy Aurella favored as well, preferring to keep her comments to herself.

He cut an imposing figure as he, followed by his squire, dismounted and began marching towards Percival’s little pavilion. It seemed unlikely Lady Chris would send one of Zexen’s Six Mighty Knights on such a mission over a trivial matter. All eyes followed Lord Gallen’s broad and gleaming back as he strode up to Sir Percival and saluted. The two men were too distant for Aurella to tell what they were discussing. Lord Gallen’s usual frown of calm remained customarily fixed upon his thick features, making Percival’s young face appear doubly soft. He nodded unblinking as Lord Gallen gave his report. When Lord Gallen had finished, Percival rested his elbow on the rickety camp table and thought a moment, gloved hand rubbing his narrow chin. His reply to Lord Gallen was unheard, though his expression of bland seriousness did not change. Aurella could only guess what they were discussing. She blinked as Percival lifted his chin and pointed a gloved finger directly at her. The conversation went on a few minutes more before they exchanged salutes and Lord Gallen turned and began to march towards her.

Aurella was not a small woman, her solid 5’10” frame nearly unheard of among Zexen women. A soldier’s life had given her broad shoulders and arms nearly as thick as man’s. Yet with all her woman’s girth, she felt dwarfed before Lord Gallen’s towering hulk. She met his narrow black-eyed stare as she met the gaze of any man- with calm defiance, daring him to ask what it was he wanted. He saluted; she returned it.

“Sergeant-Captain Aurella,” he rumbled.

“Lord Gallen.”

“Your troops will join with mine. We will be taking up positions east of the camp.”

“When do we move?”

“Sundown.”

Aurella nodded shortly. “We will be ready.”

He gave a sharp salute, waiting only long enough for Aurella to return the gesture before turning on his heel and striding away to collect his horse and squire.

The eastern edge of the border was not much different from the previous encampment. It was still dusty, it was still hot, and it was still boring. Or would have been if Lord Gallen hadn’t been there. He didn’t go out of his way to insult her of course, yet she couldn’t help feeling that he- like many others- did not entirely welcome her company. Perhaps she was being a trifle unfair. He respected her enough not to look over her shoulder every five minutes, and trusted her to obey his orders and to give intelligent instructions to her own troops. Not everyone was so willing to allow her to do her job. Not that there was terribly much to do at the moment. The troops, now excited by the move, were eager for greater action. Aurella herself had begun to itch with unsatisfied anticipation. _Something_ had to happen soon. Like a gathering summer thunderstorm, it might take days but the clouds would surely break and when they did it would be with the full fury of the elements.

“Sergeant-Captain.” Lord Gallen had positioned his hulk next to her.

“Lieutenant-General.” She nodded politely.

“The troops are in position?”

“They are.”

“Good.”

A brief stretch of silence. Aurella wondered what he could be waiting for. He had not actually looked at her the entire time. Both stood side-by-side facing forward, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Sir Leo’s chiseled face remained impassive. She felt first his eyes turn to appraise her, followed by the rest of his face so that he was looking down at her over his spike-capped shoulder.

“You carry an axe.” He said at length. It took all of Aurella’s willpower to keep from grinding her teeth, her hand moving reflexively to touch the weapon at her hip.

“I do.”

“Why?”

Lord Gallen himself carried a battleaxe almost as large as he was. Was he making a simple observation, or was he seeking to poke fun at her? How best to answer?

“Some situations require an axe.”

“And yet you carry a sword as well,” he nodded at the sheathed shortsword strapped to her back.

Perhaps he was simply trying to aggravate her. Aurella’s answer was clipped and smart.

“Each are single-hand weapons. I cannot wield something almost as tall and heavy as I am myself.”

Lord Gallen nodded. “Indeed not. But why keep both? Why not discard one for the other?”

Aurella turned to meet his dark-eyed scrutiny.

“I carry both because it might be unwise to leave the other behind.”

He nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with her answer.

“Which do you prefer?”

Aurella blinked. Was this some sort of attempt at conversation? What was he driving at? Eyes cast down, she thought before she answered.

“I have no preference. Either serves me well. If I must fight with an axe, I shall fight with an axe, if with a sword, then with a sword.”

“Few women carry axes these days.”

Aurella raised an eyebrow at him. Although his expression had not changed she was certain he was trying to taunt her. He knew very well the so-called “Lady Guard” had been forbidden the use of swords until well after they had been knighted. Five years had passed before any woman had been grudgingly allowed to wield what had once been considered a weapon fit only for a noble.

“It was my first weapon, Lord Gallen.” Was Aurella’s icy reply.

“I first used a sword. I prefer an axe.”

A pause during which Aurella seriously considered walking away despite not having been dismissed.

“I look forward to fighting alongside you.”

Aurella stared blankly as he raised his arm in salute. Without thought she copied the motion and watched as he turned his back and walked away. What on earth had that been about?

\--

“TAKE THAT BACK!”

“WHY SHOULD I?!”

“TAKE IT BACK AT ONCE!”

“NO!”

The sudden scuffle quickly became a brawl so loud that Aurella dropped her curias and polishing cloth and grabbed for her sword, certain Lizards had snuck around their flank and was attacking from behind. Due to the gathered crowd of onlookers, it was clear that it was not Lizards but two squires rolling about in the dust cursing each other. Aurella’s eyebrows rose in horror as she realized one of the combatants was Felicia.

“STOP IT!” she barked, elbowing through the spectators towards the brawling teenagers who had now abandoned fists and insults for weapons. Aurella had to dodge a few careless slashes before she could get close enough to separate the combatants.

“THAT IS _ENOUGH_!” she bellowed, steeping between their sweeping blades to block them with her own. Felicia’s short sword connected loudly with her knight’s longer blade.

At once the weapon fell from Felicia’s hands and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Aurella’s stern face. Without stopping, Aurella turned to disarm the other squire but his blade fell at an unpracticed angle. It slid down off the point of her blade, nicking her left arm just above the elbow before clattering to the dusty ground. Both teenagers stood with eyes wide, all too aware of their inappropriate display.

“You bloody fools! What in _hellfire_ do you think you are doing? Have you _completely_ taken leave of your senses?” Aurella shouted, pain fueling her fury. “Are you so bored that you must battle each other?”

“But I...” the young man Felicia had been arguing with stepped forward to make apology but got no further. Lord Gallen had lifted his hapless squire by the nape of his neck and held him dangling several inches above the ground.

“What do you think you are doing?” Lord Gallen growled, his hawkish nose inches from the boy’s snubbish one.

“I...I...” his squire stammered.

“Your tent.” he barked, dropping the boy and shoving his back so the unfortunate squire had to stumble to maintain his balance. “NOW.”

The squire did not have to be told twice. A small plume of dust rose behind him as the boy bolted for Sir Leo’s small pavilion. Aurella rounded on her own squire. Felicia’s oval face paled. Pausing only long enough to snatch up her fallen sword she bolted towards Aurella’s tent.

Aurella then turned her murderous scowl upon the gathered crowd. It did not take them long to find reasons to be somewhere else. Exhaling loudly, she shook her head.

“Children...” she muttered.

“Indeed...” Lord Gallen agreed. One of his thick eyebrows rose a few degrees. “You’re bleeding.”

A protest died on her lips as she realized he was right. Without her armor, only a single layer of woven cloth protected her arms. The squire’s blade had not cut her deeply, but the wound was bleeding freely, staining her sleeve with red, sticky wetness. Cursing under her breath she began to search her person for a handkerchief but found none.

“Here.” Lord Gallen had produced a sail-like square of unused, if dusty, linen. Before she could insist that it was no more than a scratch, he had wrapped and tied the handkerchief securely about her arm.

“There.” he said, straightening to his full, imposing height. “I do apologize for my squire’s behavior.”

“And mine,” Aurella swallowed, taking an extra second to find her tongue. “They may be knights-in-training, but they still have some growing up to do.”

“Indeed.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a vague suggestion of a smile.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my squire.”

Lord Gallen nodded and saluted. Aurella returned it and headed for her pavilion. Felicia sat inside, industriously polishing the armor Aurella had left behind. She chanced one brief glance up at Aurella and polished still harder.

“Felicia...” Aurella’s tone was not unkind but brooked no nonsense. The girl looked up guiltily, her blonde braids in disarray and dust thick on her face and clothing.

“Would you care to tell me what that was all about?”

Felicia swallowed hard before answering.

“H-he insulted...”

“Insulted whom?”

“Well...he was teasing me for wearing my hair up like Lady Chris...”

“Felicia that is _hardly_ a reason to draw your fist at someone, much less a blade.”

“W-well...that’s not all he said...” An angry scarlet flush had crept into Felicia’s cheeks. Aurella raised an eyebrow.

“What else did he say?”

“He said...he said any squire of yours wasn’t fit to imitate the Silver Maiden! He slandered you! I couldn’t let him do that!”

Aurella sighed and rubbed her temples. The subject always made her head ache.

“Felicia...people have been spreading scandal about me since before you were born. It is nothing I haven’t heard before and nothing I will not hear again. You know it isn’t true and that should be enough for you. You cannot help what other people think.”

“But he slandered you!” Felicia protested, tears in her eyes.

“ _Enough!_ ” Aurella snapped, her tone much harsher than she’d intended. Felicia shrank back at her shouting.

“Enough...” her tone was softer. “Felicia...I’m glad that you don’t believe the ridiculous things people say about me, and I appreciate your defending me, but you cannot go about threatening people. Such times use your tongue, not your sword. If someone doesn’t believe you, that is their misfortune.”

Felicia nodded dumbly, chastened.

“Once you are finished here you will apologize to Lord Gallen’s squire for your behavior.”

“But...!” Felicia’s protest was cut short.

“You will apologize.” Aurella’s insistence was stern. “Not for what you believe to be true, but for how you behaved.”

Felicia nodded in mute acceptance.

“Good. Now finish up.”

“Sergeant-Captain...?”

Aurella stopped short in the act of exiting the tent.

“I know I’m not supposed to ask but...well...who gave you that?”

Aurella looked down to follow the line of Felicia’s pointing finger and found herself staring at Lord Gallen’s makeshift bandage.

“Oh. Lord Gallen.”

Felicia’s eyes grew disconcertingly wide and an unpleasant realization dawned upon the older woman.

“Oh sweet Sadie, Felicia it isn’t like _that_! His fool boy of a squire can’t swing a sword straight. He nicked me while I was pulling the two of you apart.”

“Yes ma’am.” the answer was perfunctory, automatic and Aurella knew the girl had not believed a word she said.


	2. Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two soldiers find themselves in a very tight corner.

Many among the three nations wondered if peace truly did exist. To Leo, astride his horse and swinging his axe among enemy soldiers, it seemed more a dream than ever. It made no difference- Tinto, Harmonia, Grasslands- _someone_ was never happy with whatever agreement had been so carefully negotiated. Soon enough the shaky truce would end and everyone would go back to hacking each other to pieces. An uncomfortably close sword swing brought Leo’s mind away from politics and back to the task at hand. The enemy hoards were large and well equipped, trained in the art of killing. This was no mere Grassland revolt but a full-scale assault by professional soldiers. It was well Percival was commanding things from this side of the battle. Leo himself was a strong leader but lacked Sir Percival’s quit wit and creativity. Thus, Leo was content to play “brawn” to Sir Percival’s “brains”. He was an able commander and so he had assigned Dame Aurella and her unit to corner around the enemy flank. Even with the extra help of her corps, things were not going as well as Leo would have liked. Little progress was being made on either side. They were too evenly matched. This would not be an easy victory.

He heard it before he saw it, the sudden surge of steel on steel; subtle but there nonetheless. Someone was gaining the upper hand. Chancing a brief glance he scanned the horizon. Amid waving pikes and swords he recognized the silhouette of Zexen armor against the low summer sun. There were only a few on horseback, the handful of knights and cavalrymen in Aurella’s troops, the rest foot soldiers, the domes of their helmets virtually unseen in the teeming mass of flesh and steel. Aurella’s mount reared, pawing the sunset with its forelegs before dashing its hooves against enemy skulls. Its mistress followed with a sharp-edged swing of her own weapon, the blade cleaving a shield in two and sending the wooden bits flying. They must be pressing close against her for she reared her horse again. Steed and rider paused briefly, mane and tail tossed in the dry breeze, sword raised high above her head, a majestic shadow against the red curtain of the sky. Leo’s eyes grew wide behind his visor as the image shattered, a pike suddenly thrust into the black blot of the rider’s torso. The horse brought its hooves down upon the unfortunates unable to move out of the way. The rider sat stiffly for only the barest of seconds before turning and bringing down the weight of her poised short axe into the shoulder of the pike bearer. She fought on.

Leo let out a breath he had not realized he’d been holding and quickly reached to block a blade aimed at his own person. Inwardly he cursed himself for allowing such distractions. The thick of a battle was no place to daydream. Still, as a fellow commander he needed to know if Aurella’s troops were faring well or ill. He stole another glance toward the flank where her troops staunchly kept the enemy at bay. The fight was slowly tilting toward her favor and yet something was wrong. She now rode at the center of the battle. Leo squinted at her dark and distant form. Was it a trick of the fading crimson light that her strokes seemed labored and clumsy? Did he imagine the drunken sway to her seat? No… No, he did not imagine it. Was there time? Could he help? His men fought steadily, the enemy finally forced into grudging retreat. Yes, he could spare the men and himself. Time seemed distorted in the heat, slow and sluggish as the wavering currents of air that made the tableaux of men and armor ripple as if no more than figures on a rumpled tapestry. His mouth opened and barked orders; his heels dug spurs into the inky sides of his stallion. He felt the animal’s body lurch beneath him through the thickness of the heat, felt his hand grip his axe more tightly. Too late. In horror he watched as Aurella’s form slowly slid from her saddle through muddied time and disappear into the mass of foot soldiers. Abruptly the heat fog evaporated, outstripped by suddenly rapid time accompanied by the startlingly deafening noise of battle. An enraged roar smote his ears and rang inside the walls of his helmet. With a distant shock Leo realized the battle cry was his. Men and horses fell before him, fury carving a bloody path toward the place where his Sergeant-Captain had fallen. Her horse, frightened without a rider, danced and rolled its eyes in fear. It bolted as Leo’s anthracite charger bore down upon it, leaving a briefly empty space where it had once stood amid the press of people. Aurella was nowhere to be seen. Cold needles pressed his heart as his eyes frantically sought among the hopeless, swarming mass of dust and iron. Goddess she must surely be trampled to a pulp by now. His own breath echoed loudly in his ears. Swings and thrusts were deflected and returned automatically, his attention elsewhere. She had to be near here; she had fallen at this spot. The rubbish upon the battlefield floor was thick and coated in a dense layer of sickly yellow dust. Dented helms, broken swords, the shafts of shattered pikes, and chunks of cloven shields lay scattered amongst the unfortunate bodies of the dead and wounded, their clothing soaked a darker brown beneath the dust where blood had seeped through; blood that should have been red if not for the infernal cloud created by so many stamping feet. Red. Something triggered in the back of Leo’s mind.

_Scarlet Women._

It had been a common epitaph used when referring to Aurella and the other women of her cohort. Indeed, it had extended to the female recruits several years afterwards. No one in either force wore red armor or uniforms and yet he found himself staring at a gauntlet-covered hand, both glove and sleeve stained a brilliant crimson red. He did not stop to reconsider. In one motion he vaulted from his saddle, grabbed the hand with the red glove and pulled. From under a broken shield and another fallen soldier he dragged his subordinate, the whole of her armor slicked in fresh, bright blood. Leo took little notice of this. Latching one arm around her middle, he leaped again for his saddle, dragging with him the double weight of an unconscious and fully armored soldier.

A deep and rolling boom smote the battlefield. Almost everyone paused to look up at the suddenly treacherous sky. Red had turned to black and thunderheads had rolled in unnoticed. The first cold drops began to fall as the last of the bloodied sunlight failed and lightning split the heavens. However, war knows no weather unfit for battle save that of winter snows. Loath to retreat over so trivial a matter as a thunderstorm, the combatants fought stubbornly on. It was not until the wind, no longer a dry and dusty summer wheeze, but a shrieking gale that nearly tore the guidons from their bearer’s hands, stirred a cloud of dust so thick and gusts so strong it pushed back both forces that the combatants began to take notice. This was no mere rain squall brewing. The weather would turn ugly and quickly. One hand steadying the woman slung across his saddle horn, he raised his axe and bellowed.

“ALL UNITS FALL BACK! WE CANNOT BATTLE THE ELEMENTS!”

His troops goggled at him like so many iron-clad geese. It was not until a yellow bolt of lightning smote a pack of soldiers a short distance away, scorching men and earth, that his troops jumped and fled. It was well the opposition had similar concerns, they too had decided themselves unworthy opponents for Mother Nature, else the battle might have ended unpleasantly for Zexen. That did not, however, mean that the retreat was in any sense orderly. Men and beasts were becoming panicked in the wet and howling darkness. Most were fleeing in the general direction of their own camps, but with the now driving rain and almost total darkness Leo could not be entirely sure which direction camp lay. Aurella drew a shuddering breath beneath his hand. He could not stand here and wait for stragglers as he usually would. Offering a brief plea of forgiveness, he heeled his mount and charged through the curtain of icy water toward the Zexen camp. At least he had hoped that had been the direction of camp. The smack of wet wood and leaves against his visor were proof enough that in the chaos of the still mounting storm he had misjudged the direction. There were no woods near the Zexen camp. Where he was now, he could only guess. Lightning cracked loudly, briefly illuminating the forest in light bright as noon. Pained by the sudden contrast Leo could only discern the sharply shadowed shapes of sodden trees and branches. Nothing and nowhere to shelter. A forest in such a storm was dangerous. He’d have to press on.

Hours, it had to be hours later for the rain had slowed, falling steady and sullen in the wet and empty darkness of the night. Lightning flashed silently reflecting strangely in the distance. Cautiously, Leo urged his mount forward. The sky flickered again, briefly revealing a rickety structure of at least three walls of wood, a thatched and mossy roof, and few fragments of glass remaining in a broken window. Silently offering thanks he slid from the saddle and led his shivering horse toward the meager shelter. Several leaks and drips proved the roof to be an imperfect barrier against the downpour, but it was better than standing in the open elements. Pausing only long enough to shed his helmet and sodden gloves Leo hurried to lift Aurella down from where she lay slung over the horse’s shoulders. She gave a shallow cry as Leo transferred her to the moldy hay coating the earthen floor. His stallion whickered and shook its inky coat in reminder.

“Patience, my friend,” Leo spoke, ignoring the animal for the moment. “Ladies first.”

The charger snorted indignantly and pawed the stable floor. Leo wasted precious seconds rooting through his saddlebags, searching desperately for flint and tinder. At last he found the little metal box and struck flint against it. The tiny specks of fire cast only dim light but enough to tell that a filthy lantern yet hung from the rafters. Reaching, he caught the article and prayed the wick of the greasy yellow candle inside would catch. The goddess must have been listening for the flame flickered to life, filling the damp and dusty space with light made dull from the layers of dirt upon the lantern glass. Leo gave silent thanks for his answered prayer and knelt to see to his Second Lieutenant. The rain had washed away the blood that had earlier coated her armor, though much of it still lay soaked into her uniform. Unlatching her helmet, he lifted it off her head catching only a few strands of hair in the hinges as he did so. She did not cry out but lay still, her face pale and hair dark and sodden from the rain.

“Aurella?” he smacked her cheek lightly but she did not stir. Frowning, Leo could not help but think back to a similar situation. Lady Chris, faint from exhaustion, had had to sleep in her armor until she awoke. But she had been only tired, not injured and such damage could not be gauged through steel. If only Felicia were here… But then perhaps it was just as well Aurella’s squire had escaped the chaos. Biting his lip, Leo unbuckled Aurella’s sword and axe and set them aside out of her reach along with her dagger.

“So you cannot behead me later,” he told his unconscious Sergeant-Captain and let out a noisy sigh. “I am afraid there is nothing else for it.”

A knight’s armor was the outermost of roughly six layers of clothing. Even still, Leo could not help the guilty crawling sensation in his stomach and the heat that rose in his cheeks. Court manners protested loudly against the press of time and unknown injury as he unhooked her gorget and shoulder plates. Her gloves and elbow guards came off easily enough but the clasps of her curias did not want to budge. Try as he might he could not wrench the buckles open. In the dim, flickering light he noticed a chunk of wood about two inches in diameter had been shoved into the seam between the two fasteners. The pike he’d seen the enemy soldier thrust into her. Deciding to forego any further fooling with the buckles Leo pulled out his dagger and simply slashed the leather straps. The dented breastplate sprung open like a child’s toy Jack-in-the-box, bouncing slightly on its warped hinges. Carefully, Leo wedged a hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her enough to slide the ruined armor out of the way. This pressed a small cry from her lungs. Upon settling her back onto the mouldering straw he discovered why.

A spearhead, three or four inches of wood still attached, lay embedded under her jacket, the blade hidden beneath the dark, stained fabric. Leo cringed, furious with himself. Had he known he would not have ridden several hours with her lying slung over his horse on her stomach. Still, he did not know how deeply the blade went- if it was merely a scratch or if it had pierced muscle, or worse still, organs.

“You would make this difficult,” he muttered, tangling with the laces of her jerkin. Leo’s chivalry shuddered as the padded coat opened to reveal that the spearhead had pierced her uniform coat and blouse and had been shoved underneath her leather jumps. Mercifully, it had only rent her chemise, leaving the thin linen garment sticky with captured blood. Despite the mess, he was more than content to leave her the undershirt and simply tore the rip wider. Even Leo’s soldier’s stomach twisted uneasily at what he saw. The blade lay cold and red in her flesh. It had gouged a deep space just below her left ribs and had been shoved upwards, the tip lodged on the opposite side against the inner arc of her lower ribs Gingerly, he tested the bloodied weapon fragment, the movement drawing a small cry from Aurella. It was not buried entirely, but deeply enough that he feared to remove it, doing so might make matters worse. While he didn’t think it had pierced anything vital, blood still ran warm and red from the awful rent in her skin and pulling out the spearhead might release a flow he had no way to staunch. Gritting his teeth, Leo sat back on his haunches and looked at her for a moment. This was beyond his skill to mend.

A cold hand grabbed his wrist.

“Who—“ the question broke off in a strangled gasp. Aurella sat half risen, one hand latched around Leo’s wide wrist, her other fumbling for a dagger that was not there. Leo took her hand and gently pushed her shoulder back until it touched the floor.

“It is only Leo.” He told her, his voice even and calm. Aurella’s eyelids flickered, alternately hiding and revealing dazed brown eyes.

“You are wounded, lie quiet.” He commanded gently. Some distant soldier’s reflex must have compelled her to obey for she did not argue but lay still. His charger snorted, sending clouds of steam into the chill half-dark. Leo scowled at his impatient horse.

“I’m coming,” he snapped. “Have some consideration for the injured.”

The horse lowered its neck and pawed the earth, chastened. Steam rose from its dark body, the cold water still dripping from its fur. Leo glanced at the animal, at his soldier, and at the miserable weather outside. It would have to be one or the other and Aurella could not run.

“Forgive me, my friend.” Leo told it more calmly, reaching to stroke its nose. “I can only tend to one of you.” Aurella gave a pained chuckle.

“See to him,” she panted, “I’ll be alright.”

“No,” Leo stated grimly, draping Aurella’s jerkin over her shoulders as he stood and turned to his shivering horse, “you won’t. Not unless we can find help. Or help finds us.”

Aurella, face white and wet from the cold rain, watched as Leo removed the saddlebags and water skin from the horse’s tack. Kneeling, he tugged at the laces of Aurella’s boots.

“What are you doing?” she gasped as Leo yanked off one boot and then the other.

“Sending a message..” With that he shoved Aurella’s boots backwards into the stirrups, further securing them by fastening the laces around the girds.

“That’s a Dead General’s seat...” her voice was growing weaker. Leo nodded.

“It is. But this is my horse and your boots. With any luck the knights will understand that we are alive but in need of help. They can follow his trail back to us.”

Aurella gave no reply to this. Leo led the animal to the open entry of the ramshackle stable.

“YAH!” he bellowed, smacking the animal across the rump. Unable to resist its own instincts, the stallion bolted into the pouring rain, a brief crackle of lightning reflecting of his inky, rain-wet hide as he galloped madly into the darkness.

Their messenger gone, Leo turned again to Aurella only to find her unconscious once more. Her lips had faded to a strange purplish shade and trembled in the cold. The rain had given the summer night an uncharacteristic chill and he was certain damp clothing was not helping matters. He had to warm her, had to do something for her and quickly. He shuddered himself as he realized just how cold and heavy his own sodden clothes had become. He couldn’t very well start a campfire on the floor; it might be earth but the straw would surely catch. After several minutes of fruitless searching among the mildewed fodder and rubbish strewn upon the floor, Leo’s boot scraped against something textured and hollow. A cracked ceramic pot rolled from the corner, spilling a small quantity of rotted grain as it did so. It wouldn’t hold water- he’d had quite enough of that anyway- but it would do quite well as a brazier. A chilled sneeze prompted him to hurry.

Once he had a small fire flickering cheerfully inside the pot’s earthenware belly he set about for anything that would serve in place of their soaked clothing. A moth-eaten horse blanket and a ragged quilt found rolled in a corner offered themselves as a rather dusty alternative. Both coverings were shaken vigorously before the doorless entryway and held above the smoking fire before Leo dared put them to use. He had been afraid fleas might go pinging from the quilt as he smoked the beaten patchwork. However, the faded cotton appeared to be uninhabited and so he spread it over Aurella’s shivering form. Once covered, he set about removing the rest of her soaked uniform. In the dim light it was hard to tell if her garments were more saturated with blood or water. Deciding it did not matter Leo slung the various articles over the knotted rafters and then rid himself of everything but his underclothes and breeches. Cold and damp as they were, his modesty positively refused to allow anything less. Laundry detail accomplished, Leo wrapped the itchy wool around his shoulders and knelt to examine Aurella more closely.

She lay quiet and still where he had left her, red already seeping through the patched fabric of the quilt. Her hands, he saw, bore no rune marks, and he himself carried none, having no talent at all for magic- healing or otherwise. That left only the small first aid pouch in his saddlebags. Intended for only minor injuries or quick fixes for hurts that would be dealt with immediately afterwards, it was unable to yield much. A small bottle of brandy, a roll of linen and two larger squares of cloth was all it could offer. Leo’s brow furrowed in thought. Her wound still bled. He did not want to leave the spearhead where it was, but if he pulled it out what could he stop the blood with? He had only two small bandages and nothing with which to close the wound. Or did he? Needle and thread he did not have, but there was a second option, one he did not like and was sure Aurella would enjoy even less. He would have to wake her to ask her and he dared not attempt such a feat while she drifted in unconsciousness and was liable to slip from limbo into death without him ever knowing. Unstopping the bottle he blotted brandy on his fingers and dabbed her lips.

“Aurella?” he asked, smacking her cheek. Pain crossed her pallid face as she blinked herself back into the waking world. Leo could not help a sigh of relief at seeing her characteristic scowl once more.

“…the devil did you wake me up for?” she groaned with a half-smile. Leo mimicked the expression and offered her a sip from the bottle, which she gladly took.

“I did not wish to try to care for you while unconscious. You took a spear and the head still lies just under your ribs.”

She forced a half-smile and a shallow chuckle. “I had wondered why my stays suddenly seemed to pinch so much.”

Leo smirked at her coarse humor and went on. “I shouldn’t know. Tell me, have you needle and thread in your pocket?”

Aurella weakly shook her head. “I do not.”

Leo frowned in thought. “That leaves us a hard choice. I can either bandage your wounds around the spearhead or try to remove it. Either way, you will bleed much and perhaps be injured worse. You will certainly require stitches but there is nothing to close your wounds except…”

Both cast an uneasy eye at the fire flickering inside the broken pot. It was not a pleasant option, but it would spare Aurella from losing any further blood.

“Do it.” she stated plainly. Leo nodded.

“Did you want more of this?” he asked, offering the brandy. She pushed it away with one hand.

“No. Save it. We’ll need it.” An option he’d have chosen himself. Stopping the bottle he set it on the floor and reached for his dagger. Unsheathing it, he laid the gleaming blade across the mouth of the pot amidst the dancing flames. They watched silently as the blade warmed, the shining metal growing red with the heat. At last Leo grasped the handle and lifted the knife from its fiery perch. Tearing off a bit of frayed quilt binding, Aurella twisted it and stuck it between her teeth. Leo bit his own lip as blade in one hand he carefully lifted the hilt of the spearhead with the other. Aurella inhaled sharply, her eyes scrunched closed with pain. Immediately blood bubbled up from beneath the loosened blade. Gingerly, he pulled the fragmented weapon the rest of the way out of her flesh. Blood welling up alarmingly in the freshly opened space, Leo hurriedly cast the spearhead aside and grabbed the brandy bottle. Gripping the cork with his teeth he yanked it free and poured the contents over the gash in Aurella’s side. She grimaced and bit down on the cotton fragment but made no sound. Instead she commanded her trembling hands to press down as Leo’s free hand pressed up, forcing the edges of the wound together. He did not have to warn her to brace herself. She had already drawn a breath and was holding it, face contorted against pain she knew must be endured. Cringing himself, Leo brought the flat of the blade down and laid it against her bare and bloodied skin. Her entire body jerked and she never fully managed to swallow a cotton-stifled scream as Leo pressed the searing metal against her flesh. The stench of burning skin began to fill the cramped space. Aurella did not bat an eye as he poured the remaining brandy over the burn, the sting of alcohol laughable compared to the agony of seared flesh. Her breathing came thick and fast with pain, her fists knotted in the dingy quilt. Leo, quite forgetting himself, reached and stroked her damp hair from her eyes.

“You have just put many men to shame,” he smiled. “I could not have suffered such torture with so little complaint.”

She smiled weakly behind her mouthful of cotton but eyed his hand warily. Leo hastened to reclaim his offending fingers.

“I apologize.” He could not help the heat creeping into his cheeks. Despite having turned his face away he saw her wave the apology away with a shaky hand.

“Do not think about it.” She had spit out the cotton. Both sat in silence, contemplating the fire, its silent crackle and the persistent rhythm of the falling rain providing the only sound.

“Do you know where we are?”

Leo shook his head. “I do not.”

The two soldiers contemplated this. Scant rations, an injury too severe to allow movement and goddess knew how many miles of rain and trees between them and the Zexen camp. Or the enemy camp for that matter.

“A fine mess…” Aurella muttered.

“Quite.” Leo agreed, eyes on the fire.

Their damp uniforms dripped from the rafters.

“Do we know who won?”

“The storm.”

Both chuckled briefly, Aurella’s ending in a pained grunt.

“Are you all right?”

Aurella shifted and replaced the rain-dampened cloth over her burn. “I’ll be fine.” She replied in a voice weak and breathy from pain. Leo did not believe her, but there was little he could do save nod and return to staring at the fire.

“Thank you…” her tone was quiet, pained. Leo nodded silently.

“I only wish I could have given a less painful treatment. You’ll have proper care once we return to camp.”

“Just how are we going to do that anyway?”

Leo consulted the fire before making his answer. “We can’t very well go anywhere at the moment. I can’t take you outside in a downpour like this and I’m afraid I have no earthly idea where we are or even if we are in friendly territory.”

“And once it stops raining?”

“I’ll scout the area, see where we are. We can make appropriate plans from there.” It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all they had for the moment. He heard her shift in the straw and briefly glanced over to make sure her fidgeting was not a side effect of something more serious. One hand tucked under her head, the other still holding the damp cloth in place, she did not appear to have aggravated her injury though her face was still pale and beaded with sweat.

“The first aid kits ought to include larger brandy bottles,” he offered with a sympathetic smile. This drew a faint chuckle and a half-smile from Aurella.

“They should.” She agreed. “At least my senses would be dulled if not the pain.”

“Such a bottle would not fit inside the kit.” Leo’s mischievous smile split into a grin as Aurella made a face and hurled a handful of moldy straw at him. They both laughed, Aurella’s amusement again ending in a stifled grunt and a pained expression. With a wound cut so close to her diaphragm, laughter might lift her spirits but probably did little to lessen her physical pain.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t provoke you to laughter. I wouldn’t want you to split your side any further.”

Aurella rolled her eyes at his dreadful pun. Leo smiled and she returned it. His cheeks suddenly grown warm, Leo turned his attention to the fire again. He ought to distract her, speak with her, do something to take her mind off the ache. However, words dried up on his tongue and he found himself with nothing to say. What was there to talk about? Not her wounds, certainly, that would only make her pain worse. Not work, that meant present circumstances and there was nothing to be done about that except worry about what to do once the rain stopped. Leo desperately cast about for anything to discuss but he could think of nothing. Strange, he would not have had this trouble with Percival or any of the other knights except perhaps Lady Chris. Too much propriety always got in the way of any conversation with a female, particularly a Lady. But Aurella was not a Lady as far as he knew. It occurred to him that there was very little he actually knew about her. Protocol and the long miles between separate outposts had kept them from any conversation outside of tactics and battle. Here at last was a chance to talk about something else and without the eyes of a hundred other soldiers upon them. Leo felt his face grow warm again.

“You fought well this afternoon,” he faltered.

“Not well enough,” came Aurella’s dry response. “Blighter stuck me like a pig.”

“Nevertheless, I would not want to face you in battle. I’m glad you serve Zexen.”

Aurella smiled, her cheeks grown pink. “You are too kind Lord Gallen.”

“How long have you served?”

“I was the first woman to be knighted to Zexen.” She answered, conflicting notes of both pride and shame in her voice. “Thirteen years.”

Leo’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. He had thought her to be young, but not so young as that. His brows dropped and furrowed as he took a moment to sort out the arithmetic.

“Thirteen years would make you…thirty-four? Or is it impolite to make such a guess?”

“Forty-two, actually.” Her smile was wry, amused. “It took the counsel a few extra years to actually get around to knighting us.”

He blinked. She had been knighted only one year before him. How could she be seven years his senior? Further, if that were so, why was she still only Sergeant-Captain? Rather than belabor her thoughts with such heavy questions, he asked instead: “You have enjoyed your time in our service?”

She thought for a moment then answered. “I have. It is not an easy life, but it suits me well, I think.”

Leo agreed with her. Aurella’s strong will and forceful personality would have fit poorly into any other role. He had difficulty imagining her as a simpering courtier, a bubbling shop keep, or gossiping burgher’s wife, but had fun attempting.

“What are you laughing at?” she demanded, amused.

“Oh nothing. Nothing.”

Aurella’s raised eyebrow and piercing stare that worked so well on unruly squires was becoming hard to bear. He hurried to speak of other things.

“Why did you choose to enter service?”

The look of scrutiny vanished at once and silence lay heavy in the close half-dark of the little shed.

“Why did you?” she countered. Fair enough, he had done most of the asking so far.

“There was never really any question that I would become a knight. My father was a knight. It was always assumed that I would follow him into service and I did so gladly. I was raised on his tales of adventure and heroism. I dreamed of becoming like the heroes in his stories. I hope I have.”

Aurella smiled at his explanation. “You always longed to become a knight, then?”

Leo nodded. “I did.”

Her smile widened. “Then it is well you became one.”

“What about you?”

Aurella made no answer but turned and stared into the warm glow of the flames.

“Aurella...?”

“...I’m tired.” she said, eyes fixed upon the brazier. A burning sensation of a far different kind began in Leo’s stomach. Shame prickled hot and humbling as he realized he’d offended her.

“Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

With a silent sigh Leo added more damp wood to the fire and set about trying to find sleep himself, the taste of his own foot making it difficult.


	3. Casting The Gauntlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which awkward things are said.

_The castle corridors were cool despite the summer heat, the humidity if not the warmth penetrating the thick stone walls. The moon cast bright shadows of spectral light through the narrow windows onto the smooth gray stones. Ordinarily, little could persuade Leo to leave his bed at such a ghostly hour, but a strange sound had wakened him. At first he thought it must be some sort of night beast, but the wailing had persisted more soft and mournful than any wolf’s cry and no green or golden eyes glittered in the darkness beyond the parapets. The cry came again, a queer smothered howl, a wailing moan that sounded frighteningly close. It was not until the mysterious beast sniffled that he realized the cry was human. As eerie the noise, Leo was not one to put much faith in superstitions and so crept further down the moonlit hall in search of a more corporeal phantom. His quest led him up to the battlements. Axe in hand he peered above the edge of the stone stairway only to discover his weapon unnecessary._

_A figure stood hunched over the edge of the battlements its upper body hidden, resting in the space between two of the giant machinations. Leo squinted in the darkness, the shape indistinct in the shadows. It wore the under part of a knight’s uniform; blouse, boots and breeches. The soldier howled into its folded arms, the smothered sob echoing off the empty stone in the otherwise still and heavy air. Despite the August heat the noise prickled chills down Leo’s spine. Silently, he lowered himself to sit on the cold stairs, hidden from view in the stairwell. He had no idea who it was or even if it was a man or woman venting their grief into the emptiness of the small hours of the night. This had been intended as a solitary vigil and so Leo dared not reveal himself. To do so would only shame the mourner further. Instead he kept his silence, hands and chin resting on the hilt of his axe letting his own tears fall noiselessly to the step below. The tragedy was unknown to him but the grief was real, as heavy and oppressive as the humidity in the still air. It was all he could offer and so he stayed until the mourner’s cries had dwindled into whimpers and finally exhausted silence._

Leo’s head abruptly jerked up as another wail pierced the stifling air. He’d stayed too long and fallen asleep. Surely she’d discover him if he didn’t move and move now. He tried to replace his axe but his hand closed over thin air. With equal surprise he discovered the floor was not of cold stone but dusty packed earth. He’d been dreaming. Dreaming of a night several years past, of a sight few had ever seen. Leo took a moment to remember when and where he was. The candle had burnt itself out and the embers of the fire glowed soft and red as the flames took their own rest. A second choked sob pulled him from his reverie. Aurella. Tossing a handful of straw into the fire pot Leo crawled to where she lay, the rejuvenated flames leaping up to offer waving orange light. Aurella lay trembling on the barn floor, her shape cast in curious relief by the weird glow; eyes closed yet in sleep, her teeth clenched and features contorted in pain.

Skin that had seemed cold and white as marble in the rain now ran slick with sweat and yellow as candle wax. He put a hand to her head to confirm that she burned with more than warmth from the small fire. Leo cringed. Had he stuck his hand into the flames his fingers would have been scorched less. Prying the quilt from her knotted fingers he drew the edge down enough to inspect her wound. Her veins seared closed, the wound no longer bled but instead wept a sticky, discolored fluid, the flesh surrounding the horrid scar hot and swollen a blazing red. An infected wound was always dangerous, particularly one so large and so near her heart. If allowed to fester it would surely kill her. Replacing the bandage Leo glanced out the broken window. The rain had stopped but the sun had not yet returned. Goddess alone knew what time it was, how long it had been, whether the horse had reached camp or Brass Castle. He could only hope and pray that help would come in time.

Aurella stirred in the molding straw. Drawing a shuddering breath she opened bleary eyes and glanced at their dim surroundings. She opened her lips to speak but could manage little more than a faded whisper.

“Has…?”

Leo shook his head. “No, no one has come yet. Reilan should have reached either camp or Brass Castle by now. Hopefully someone will be here soon.”

She nodded quietly. Again Leo reached and brushed a few wayward chestnut strands from her eyes. She did not flinch this time, but watched with a sort of detached confusion. The focus did not last. Eyelids drooping and gaze turning inward, her head began to list to one side. The chilling realization that he was losing her prompted Leo to rapid action. Frantically he dug through his equipment finally closing his fist around a flask of medicine at the very bottom of the saddlebag. Pulling out the cork, he held the little black bottle to her lips.

“Here, you must drink this,” he instructed gently, lifting her head with his free hand to help her. She did her best to swallow the bitter liquid but could manage no more than a few mouthfuls before she began to gag. Leo stopped the bottle and set it aside. Aurella lay still, her breathing labored, struggling to stay awake. If she fell asleep goddess knew if she would ever wake again, she had already soaked her uniform and half the straw in blood and the fever only served to weaken her further. She had to stay awake until help arrived.

“You know, you never answered my question,” he rumbled softly.

Aurella blinked deliberately, trying to regain her focus. “What question?”

“Why did you enter service?”

“Oh…” she paused for a moment, seeming to weigh and consider her words. When she spoke again it was with an air of one who no longer cared.

“It was better than the vocation my parents chose for me.”

“What was that?”

“Marriage to a slavering old boar over twice my age.”

Leo shared in her cringe at those words. “Why would such an arrangement be necessary?

“Because my father was a foolish man unable to balance his own accounts. His debts had to be paid somehow.”

“With your beauty.” Leo answered, voice sad and face grim. Aurella gave an amused snort.

“Beauty? That belonged to my younger sister. She fled to the service of the goddess to avoid such a fate. My father had no son to apprentice since my brother ran away. He was always talking about sailing away on one of the merchant ships. I suppose that is what he did. Heaven alone knows where he is now. That left only me.”

“And so you joined the army instead.”

“It was better than joining the circus.”

They both smiled. She sighed and gazed through the darkness at the thatched ceiling above.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she answered with a slight shake of her head. It was certainly not ‘nothing’ but Leo hesitated to press the matter. Perhaps he ought to apologize.

“Forgive me I…”

Aurella cut his apology short, weakly waving it away with one hand. “My family oddities are not your fault Sir Leo. Please do not concern yourself.”

“I should not have questioned you.”

“As I said, don’t worry about it.”

There was nothing to say to this and so Leo remained silent.

“You don’t…” she let the unfinished sentence hang. Leo looked up, hoping she would continue. “You don’t know very much about me.” she finished.

“No, I do not.” Leo’s agreement was shamefaced. “I should like to change that if possible?”

She was handsome in her way, even with the distortion of pain and illness. The firelight throwing her features into sharp relief made him think of the granite maidens that stood beneath the city fountains. She was not a aristocratic beauty like Lady Chris, silver on her head and amethysts in her eyes. Instead Aurella’s sculpted features told of a simpler elegance, a treasure of strength and will. Not that Lady Chris could be measured by looks alone, yet Aurella held an attraction far different from that of Zexen’s Silver Maiden. Unlike the four other knights Leo had never had any amorous designs towards his captain. Certainly he loved her and followed her as a loyal soldier and friend. Indeed, his attitude toward his Captain-General had been that of a devoted uncle, a mentor, and not a contemporary. Strangely, what he felt towards Aurella was something else entirely. What it was exactly, Leo could not name, but it was there nonetheless.

“Why?”

“Because…” Leo forced himself to look into her eyes. It was difficult not to lose both nerve and thought but he clung stubbornly to both. Her voice was so soft and weak...this might be the only chance he would ever have. Swallowing hard on the lump in his throat, he spoke:

“You seem like someone whom I could speak to. Not just about battle and politics but about whatever you or I cared to talk about.”

Aurella smiled a little at his remark. Leo went on. “You are a valiant knight, an able commander, a trusted officer, and a loyal soldier. I fear the day I might face you in battle. You have exquisite taste in weapons and you use either with equal skill. Your form is flawless and I have seen few in the corps- men or women- approach your strength. Military merits aside… I have seen how you behave towards your squire, your men. Behind that scowl of yours is a tender heart and a kind smile. I know; I have seen it. I had hoped…you might turn that smile towards me…”

His face must surely have grown as red as the fire as he realized that last bit had slipped out. Feeling an abominable fool, when he dared to look again Aurella was staring quietly up at him, her shadowed face almost unreadable in the dim firelight. That same flickering light that offered so much shelter betrayed a tiny sparkle trailing down her cheek. She was crying. Was she in pain? What had he said to upset her so? He reached to catch one of the glistening drops but she turned away. When she spoke, it was in little more than a whisper.

“As I said…” she swallowed, “you know very little about me.”

There had been rumor and scandal aplenty concerning Aurella and the first crop of women in the Zexen army. Most of it had been so wildly ridiculous that even the simplest fool would not have believed it. Less well-known had been many mean-spirited pranks and whispers of vicious hazing. What stubbornly persisted, even after youth had begun to leave the first women in ranks, were the murmurings of loose morals, favors gained through flirtation, and positions abused.

“Aurella I…” he did not notice until the words had flown that he had forgotten her title. “I do not believe invented epitaphs. Not a one had any truth to it.”

She sighed, a tired sound both deep and heavy. “I could not afford to be dismissed after less than a month of training.”

Silence hung heavy as Leo sat motionless, shocked into silence waiting for his insides to thaw. Aurella spoke before he had time to collect his tangled thoughts. She was looking through him more than at him. Though her eyes were focused on his, he felt her looking deeper, searching. Strangely, he found himself doing the same.

“I have no name,” she breathed, her voice no more than a shallow whisper, “no titles, no lands, not even a father. I have absolutely nothing, and yet...” She raised one trembling hand and reached to touch his face. Leo caught her fingers and held her icy palm against his cheek.

“You have shown me kindness,” she lowered her eyes briefly, her faint words catching in her throat. “For that, I thank you.”

Leo’s heart, chilled by her earlier hint suddenly swelled, lodging itself in his throat. A smile stole across his lips, pressing warm tears from his eyes. The fire had burnt itself low, the weak and shadowed light of dawn filtering thin fingers into the dimness of the shed. The clouds still gathered thick above the dripping forest, blotting most of what little light the groggy sun might provide. Water dripped from the eaves and branches outside as early birds chirped their damp morning song. Leo swallowed hard on his rising heart and tried to find his tongue.

“I would have done the same for anyone. I value my men- and women,” he managed, his words soft and quiet. Aurella smiled, her remaining blood staining her cheeks softly pink. He took her cold hand and held it in both of his.

“Thank you…” Leo had to strain to hear her fading words. “I’m glad I got to hear that. And thank you…for trying…”

Leo blinked. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped his words in order to hear Aurella’s.

“I had wanted a soldier’s death…” she breathed, “to die in battle from the stroke of steel and not…” Her words dwindled into silence.

“Not the way your friend was taken.” Leo finished for her. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain of a memory that would never fully heal.

“You will get your chance,” he assured her, stroking her hand. “You will fight many more battles before that happens.”

Aurella smiled faintly, mirroring his expression of forced hope and quiet sadness. She did not believe she would live. Leo tried in vain to hold his tears but found them spilling over his cheeks and into his beard. Her hand tightened around his briefly.

“Don’t cry…”

“Then do not say things like that.” Leo insisted with a hearty sniff. “You will survive. As your commanding officer I forbid otherwise.”

She gave a regretful smile at his feigned sternness, forcing Leo’s acted scowl back into an expression of anxious concern. He had no doubt she would attempt to obey orders, but this might be one mission she had no hope of carrying out. Her body betrayed her exhaustion, the weak morning sun revealing details that had been hidden in the darkness.

She gave his hand a feeble squeeze. Leo returned it and watched as her lips formed soundless words. Unable to cling to consciousness any longer her eyelids slowly fell as her head began to list. Leo caught her cheek in his palm, the deadly heat a painful contrast to her frigid hands.

“Aurella? Aurella wake up!” he pleaded, shaking her shoulder. “Stay with me! You must stay awake! Help will be here soon!”

Eyes closed, body limp in his hands, she gave no answer. Shallow breaths, each lighter than the last, were her only response. Placing two fingers beneath her jaw he tested her pulse. Her blood still flowed but as weakly as her breath. She lived yet, but for how much longer the goddess alone knew. Fighting down panic Leo desperately tried to think of something, anything he could do to help her. The miniature thunder of hoof beats sent his thoughts flying. There was no time for armor. Grabbing his axe he pressed himself against the wall and cautiously eyed the muddy forest track leading up to their hiding place. A standard issue shirt, breeches and boots would not provide much protection, but strangely he found the thought of his own demise trivial. If he could keep her safe long enough for help to arrive so much the better, but if she should die either from fever or the thrust of an enemy sword… Leo gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time. He would do his best to defend both of them.

He squinted through the branches at the trespassers. Horsemen. Two of them. Either young men or women judging by their build. Their allegiance obscured by distance Leo kept to his hiding place. They were closer now; their progress seemed slow, hesitant. Oh goddess they were probably tracking Reilan’s trail left in the mud! Willing himself to stay calm Leo continued to eye the horsemen, the summer sun finally pushing shafts of light through the trees, the golden rays reflecting silver off polished armor and- sweet goddess- the orange and gold heraldry of Zexen uniforms! Borus and Percival! Leo nearly wept with relief. Dropping his axe he dashed outside into the thick mud.

“Borus! Percival!” he shouted, flagging them with one arm. The two younger men gawked from their mounts as he ran towards them. Percival was first to recover.

“Leo!” he exclaimed, shock melting into joy. “Thank goddess you’re safe! When your horse rode into camp without you we didn’t know what to think!”

“You certainly gave us all quite a scare.” Borus added, urging his mount forward. “It took us a moment to realize those weren’t your boots. Your squire couldn’t stop bawling long enough to explain.”

“You aren’t hurt are you?” Percival asked, gripping Leo’s shoulder with one hand and patting the other up and down Leo’s arm, checking for broken bones. Leo waved him off.

“No, no I’m fine. It was Sergeant-Captain Aurella who was injured.”

Percival blinked. “Aurella?”

“Yes. We must hurry, I’m afraid she may not have much longer.”

Borus was already assembling the pieces to the travois.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Inside.”

\--

“Thank the goddess…”

The words were distant, muted as if the speaker were miles away and hidden within a dense fog. Aurella felt as if she were in a fog herself, her mind drowning in misty vapors of exhaustion. A rumbling sigh of relief was followed by a question and then a reply from a lighter-voiced second speaker.

“And she should make a full recovery?”

“Yes. The wound has healed well, but she’s lost quite a bit of blood. It will take her a few weeks to regain her strength. Don’t worry, she’ll be up and terrorizing the troops again in no time at all.”

“You have my gratitude.”

“We would not have been able to do much if you hadn’t treated her first.”

The original voice grumbled something about butchers and blind men. The second chuckled.

“Perhaps, but it saved her life.”

Footsteps echoed as one of the speakers exited. Wood creaked and fabric rustled as the remaining voice shifted. Aurella’s awareness stirred and awoke fully as a gentle touch brushed stray strands of hair from her face. Trying to blink away the woolen feeling in her head, she looked to see who was fussing with her hair. Squinting, she realized with vague astonishment that Sir Leo sat no more than an arm’s length away. Dressed in his uniform but without his armor he looked only slightly less imposing than usual. He smiled at her blank stare, the upturn of his lips softening his rough features.

“You’re awake,” he stated, relief plain in every line of his face.

“Almost…” Aurella groaned, rubbing her face with one hand. She’d intended to sit up but was stopped short by a sharp pain hidden beneath a wide bandage wrapped around her middle. Oh yes, she’d taken a spear to the gut during the last confrontation. Movement limited to turning her head, Aurella did just that. The stone walls and round-leaded windows of the long room indicated clearly that this was neither the rain shelter nor camp. Rows of little wooden beds- some occupied, others empty- lined the walls and men and women in long aprons made their rounds on silent feet. He’d brought her to the castle infirmary.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Three days,” Sir Leo returned. “Borus and Percival brought you back to the castle just in time.”

Aurella nodded quietly, trying to process the information. Three days. Truth be told she remembered none of it. Though, if she had been unconscious the entire time that would certainly explain why. She did remember, however, the foolish confessions she’d made. It had seemed important to tell the truth about herself before death left her mute. Why she had felt it necessary she could not say. Perhaps it was because she would have liked one more person to know her for what she really was, not just as the commonest of commoners or even as a soldier but as a person. Death would have saved her the knowledge of what Lord Gallen really thought of her, favorable or otherwise. It wouldn’t matter what he knew about her if she wasn’t there to witness it. Now faced with the prospect of living once more, Aurella wished she’d have kept her mouth shut. The awkwardness growing ever thicker, she found herself unsure how to phrase her request.

“Lord Gallen…about what I said…”

Leo shook his head. “You needn’t worry, I will keep your silence.”

“I trust you to do so,” Aurella turned her face away, mortified. “I only wish I’d kept mine.”

Lord Gallen raised an eyebrow.

“It was one thing when I thought I wouldn’t survive till sunrise. Now…”

“You would not have told me otherwise.” Lord Gallen finished. It was a question though not worded as such. She could hear the note of disappointment in his voice and wondered that her silence should hurt him.

“No,” she muttered, unable to hold his gaze, “I would not.”

Aurella winced at her own words; the shame of that admittance stinging worse than the knowledge of what she had already told him. Chancing a glance at Lord Gallen, she found him contemplating the worn boards of the wooden floor, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlaced. When at last he looked up, his face was calm and serious.

“I meant what I said. Then and now.”

Her expression must have been one of shock for Lord Gallen chuckled and gave a lopsided smile.

“You displayed uncommon valor on the battlefield, and fortitude in the face of torture.”

She laughed at that.

“You will receive a commendation, and a promotion as well. I will see to it,” he promised.

Shock painted her features briefly, before softening into a wry smile. “I thank you, Lord Gallen.”

“You do not believe me?” he asked, not a little hurt at her apparent lack of trust.

“I believe you, Milord.” Rather, she wanted do. “You have saved my life, I owe you a debt.”

“I will not have your trust from obligation.” Without thinking, he took her hand in both of his. “I give you my word as a Knight of Zexen. Will that not do?”

Her smile untwisted slightly, but did not lose the pitying quality.

“Then I shall undertake labors to prove it to you. If a man cannot give his word in promise, what then can he offer?”

What, indeed?


	4. Shall We Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is dancing and thinky thoughts.

Another victory for Zexen. Huzzah. Although most of the campaign had been fought while she recovered from injury, she had still had a part in it and therefore felt justified in helping celebrate. Burying her nose in the wooden mug, she drank. After being forced to lie on her back for weeks on end, she was more than ready to resume normal life. There were some advantages to being a soldier- no one expected you to act like a lady. The beer was good, better than they got in the field. Most of the men preferred ale, but there were limits to how vulgar she was willing to allow herself to act. Ale was powerful, beer less so. She eyed the glass, trying to recall how many she’d had so far. Two, she thought it was, or rather, this would be her second. She really ought to quit after this. The men were enjoying their liquor, drinking like fishes most of them. They’d have devilish headaches in the morning. Aurella smiled to herself and took another sip. It was nice to see them enjoying themselves.

The musicians in the group had struck up a tune. The male and female footsoldiers, cares momentarily forgotten, were flirting shamelessly. Felicia sat in a corner at the far side of the room, coyly fending off the red-faced advances of Lord Gallen’s squire Timothy. To think not so long ago she had crossed swords with the boy in an argument. Lady Chris sat near the opposite corner with Lord Salome, glasses hardly touched, chatting quietly. No doubt they were discussing loftier topics that involved such intellectual stimulants as court diplomacy and paperwork. Borus and Percival were making perfect fools of themselves as per usual. Sir Roland sat aloof at one of the long tables, content to watch the others cavort. Louis was lost among the other squires and soldiers closer to his own age. Lord Gallen, however, did not seem to be present. Funny, he was a man who enjoyed his ale and whom she would have expected to appear at a victory party. Casting one last glance about the room she noticed with a small shock that he was seated at the opposite side and end of the very table she sat at. He looked up from his own cup and nodded at her. Aurella returned the gesture and watched, bemused, as Lord Gallen rose and elbowed his way around the merry makers to her side of the table. The bench creaked as he lowered himself onto the open space to her left.

“Dame Aurella,” he greeted her by title, inclining his head slightly.

“Lord Gallen.” Aurella made the same small courtesy.

“The troops seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“They do.”

“A well-fought victory.”

“Quite.”

“I am glad to see you recovered so well.”

Aurella found she was unable to stop the heat from creeping into her cheeks. “Thank you, Milord. I should not be here if not for you.”

Sword and shield, was he _blushing_?

“Not at all, Dame Aurella. Not at all.” He signaled to one of the squires who came and obligingly refilled his immense pewter tankard.

“Will you?” Sir Leo nodded at the waiting squire and his pitcher of ale.

“Thank you.” Aurella held out her own cup, which the squire filled.

“It’s good isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Both sipped their drinks in silence. The younger soldiers drank, flirted, played, talked. No one had yet begun to sing off-key. The musicians switched to a livelier tune and the braver and more intoxicated pushed back two of the tables and began to dance. Aurella couldn’t help snickering behind her mug. Lord Gallen also seemed to find their antics amusing for he had begun to chuckle to himself in deep bass notes.

“Quite a sight, aren’t they?”

“They are.” Aurella agreed. 

He said nothing for a long moment, silently watching the soldiers assemble themselves in two long lines in preparation for a reel.

“I don’t suppose you would honor me with a dance?”

Aurella nearly choked on her ale. It took her a moment to recover.

“A dance, Lord Gallen? I’m afraid I would crush your feet. And I know very little of waltzes or minuets.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure I know far less of gentry choreography than you.” He drank deeply from his mug, draining it, and set it down decisively upon the table. Casting a furtive glance to either side, he leaned conspiratorially on his elbow and whispered.

“Do you know ‘The Countess Katherine’?”

“I may have made her acquaintance,” Aurella teased. Lord Gallen smiled.

“Then shall we?” he offered one massive hand.

“I believe we shall.” she placed her hand in his. Together they rose with exaggerated grace and strode towards the improvised dance floor.

“The Countess Katherine!” Sir Leo bellowed and at once the melody changed. Reed pipes began a rapid series of short notes punctuated briefly by drum and tambourine. Violin and lute joined as the other soldiers lined up on either side of the floor. Aurella grasped the long tails of her coat in one hand and Sir Leo’s huge fingers with the other. One final drum beat and as one the dancers began. The sound of rapid steps on wooden floor briefly drowned the music of the small band until the musicians leaned into their instruments and the melody once again rose above the footsteps. The dance was rapid, a jig of almost impossible pace. It had been ages since Aurella had danced it, years in fact, and yet she found she barely had to think about the steps. In truth this had always been a favorite of hers. She liked the pace, the challenge it posed. She liked the fact that she could keep up with the rhythm when others had to drop out, tired and out of breath, panting with exhaustion. Indeed others were already stepping back, laughing as they gasped for breath. Two and three at a time the couples were giving up. Only she and Lord Gallen remained on the floor. His face was flushed, but he kept pace with her easily. A tight-lipped smile spread across his face as if he were fighting not to break into a grin. Aurella allowed herself to return the expression and found the guarded smile widening into a grin of her own. Lord Gallen laughed, showing strong white teeth. She couldn’t help laughing as well. The music went on, the tempo climbing. They stepped, stomped, whirled until as suddenly as it had begun the music stopped and the corps broke out in applause.

“Had enough?” The twinkle in his black eyes belied the taunt.

“Never.” Aurella smiled defiantly.

“The Corna Reel!” Lord Gallen cried and the band struck up again. The Corna Reel, Ciprian’s Jig, The Ladies of Lanfora, too many to count they danced. It seemed to go on all night. It was late indeed when the band was forced to admit defeat and the musicians retired to well-earned ale of their own. The room had become warm and so Aurella went with him out into the cooling autumn night. They stood for a while, contemplating the darkness, catching their breath.

“It has been a long time since I danced like that.” Lord Gallen said at length.

“Me too.” Aurella agreed. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

Lord Gallen offered a rueful smile. “Not many do. I’m not often given the chance.”

“Why ever not?”

“No one wants to dance with a mountain. Especially not an old man like me. Not when there are handsome young ment to be had.” He looked away ashamed.

Aurella blinked. “Lord Gallen, if you are an old man, then I shall not even ask what it is that I am.” Her tone was feigned but her indignation was not. Lord Gallen turned to face her again. His dark eyes wandering down and then returning up to meet her own.

“I think, in your way, you are very handsome.” he said softly. Aurella blinked, her lips parting in disbelief.

“Lord Gallen...” she stammered, “I beg you do not mock me...”

He seemed surprised. “I am not. I would not.”

His eyes were earnest and yet it was hard to believe him. Aurella could not remember the last time someone had called her beautiful and meant it. There was truth in his eyes, but...

“What is it you want of me?”

“Nothing. Only the gift of your friendship...” Gently he took her upper arms in his massive hands and tenderly thumbed the spot where he’d once wound a bandage. Despite herself, Aurella felt her cheeks grow warm and blushed.

“Never have I seen anyone- man or woman- fight so hard as you do.”

Aurella had only ever seen that look in the eyes of other women, of girls much younger than herself, in the eyes of her squire Felicia and the other little maids of the corps. Admiration. Respect and esteem of the sort no man had ever shown her. Did he really believe her to be worthy of recognition? Of friendship? Did he truly have no other motive?

“You are stronger than I shall ever be,” he told her quietly. Aurella lowered her eyes, unable to hold his gaze with such heat in her cheeks.

“I fight, Lord Gallen. With sword or axe, tongue or pen. It is all I know how to do...”

“You would fight me?”

Aurella looked up at this. Lord Gallen, his great hands upon her shoulders, looked softly down at her. There was nothing but gentleness in his eyes, but looks could be deceiving. Stepping out from under the weight of his hands, she drew herself up to attention.

“I have no wish to fight you.”

Automatically, Lord Gallen straightened himself. Perplexity colored the planes of his face not obscured by shadow.

“You are Lieutenant-General,” she told him, slowly, patiently, as if explaining to one of the squires, “It would not be a fair fight, for we do not stand on even ground.”

To her great surprise, he inclined his head in a small bow. “Forgive me. I was too forward. I apologize.”

Aurella returned the gesture. “You are forgiven.”

“Thank you. Would you do this undeserving oaf the honor of escorting you back inside?”

Aurella smiled, but shook her head. “Not this night, Lord Gallen.”

He nodded. “Of course. Good night then.”

“Good night.”

He bowed, nodding chin to chest rather than raising hand to forehead in salute. Aurella briefly lowered her head as well before turning to reenter the warm, yellow torchlight of the hall. The room was still close and warm, mildly inebriated couples still danced, the musicians still played, Lady Chris and Lord Salome still talked of much drier topics than strictly necessary for such an occasion. The tableaux of mingled music and conversation was soothing if a bit loud. Aurella would have gladly suffered the noise instead of the cold silence of the women’s barracks.

Its dim blue shadows chilled her skin and made the golden warmth of the hall seem distant and unreal. Only a few had taken their beds, most were those who had sustained minor injuries in the battle and had therefore chosen sleep over celebration. Felicia had not yet returned and so Aurella undressed and put away her gear and clothing herself. The other women must have either been asleep or disinterested in who else was settling in for the night for none of them so much as opened one eye. Aurella wondered briefly if she too should have gone straight to bed rather than indulge herself in spirits and the unexpected company of Lord Gallen. Sweet Goddess what a bloody mess this was turning into...

With a sigh Aurella lay back on the lumpy old straw mattress, the ropes of the single bed creaking under her weight. They were going slack, but the thought of getting out of bed again did not appeal to her in the least. She’d tighten them in the morning. The worn, striped fabric of the aged ticking was cold against her skin and the clumped straw and sagging ropes beneath pressed lightly against her back. She didn’t mind. This bed had been hers since the first night she’d slept at Brass Castle. She knew every prick of straw and ridge of rope. The familiarity was comforting and thirty years as a soldier had taught her how to lie still and be comfortable whether her bed was of silk and goose down or mud and gravel. However, it was not discomfort that kept her from sleep but a racing mind. She knew how to shut off her thoughts, her cares, even her pain in order to sleep, but tonight she had trouble catching her thoughts. Why had Lord Gallen spoken to her? Granted they had worked together before, but had never exchanged more than empty pleasantries, orders, and battle strategy. The presence of the alcohol made the conversation less strange but not the situation.

Why he had chosen to make her his drinking companion- aside from the fact that she remained awake and mostly lucid where others had fallen under the table asleep in a drunken stupor- was not entirely clear. She could begin to theorize why he had asked her to dance. His referring to himself as a mountain was enough to make a good guess. He would cripple a lesser woman should he tread upon her feet. Aurella’s solid 5'9" frame was as thick and sturdy as many of the young men. Lord Gallen had no fear of accidentally snapping in half a woman who was- compared to the other ladies in ranks- nearly as large as he was. Indeed there were many purely logical, unexciting reasons why he might have sought out her company. Still, her mind was not satisfied. Some vague thought kept tickling at the back of her brain. In her heart she knew, though hated to admit, exactly what it was.

She was afraid. Not of Lord Gallen, certainly, at least not entirely. Nothing would ever come of their association, the divide in rank was too wide. Still, she had always rather liked him. He had never condescended her, had trusted her judgment as a commander of troops, had never teased or mocked her. That alone was enough to earn her gratitude if not admiration. She was guiltily enjoying their strange, improvised friendship, but it was no good to go chasing moonbeams. He was a Lord, and she the daughter of nothing and no one. She was just another soldier, nothing more. That was all she ever would be.

Aurella turned on her side and tucked her knees up near her chest to better cultivate warmth beneath the age-roughened prickle of the woolen blanket. She was thinking about this far too much. It did not matter. It could not go any farther than this comradery. Fraternization aside, there was one scar which she would never show, not to anyone and certainly not to Lord Gallen. Even without that, accepting such a proposal would undermine everything for which she had worked so hard. To accept the arm of any man even offered in escort would be to admit weakness, inability, failure, incompetence. Never mind that she had fought in and won more battles than there were women in the corps. Never mind that she had never once done anything to besmirch the honor of the Zexen troops despite popular gossip. Never mind that every last one of the damned rumors about her was an absolute and total lie. No one knew, no one cared. All they saw was a common woman playing at being a noble. And she had to play the role that she had been given. To do otherwise would be to admit defeat, and yet she wondered if this truly was a battle she could win?

It did not matter. She was tired and this was one argument with herself that wasn’t going to be settled tonight. With firm resolve she seized the hopeless loop of logic and shut it away. It could be worried about later. Right now, she was at home, in her bed and that was good. The blankets had finally warmed enough for her to stretch out. She did so, allowing her body to settle in the familiar hollow in the middle of the bed. She hadn’t realized until now how tired she truly was. Sleep would be a welcome respite and she submitted to it gladly.


	5. Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo returns to the family estate.

Peace. For however long it lasted, there was peace. To Leo, the term had come to imply a sort of eleven-month armistice rather than an actual laying down of arms. His own weapon hanging heavily from his belt, Leo had no intention of being caught unprepared, peacetime or no. Not that the Zexen forest was a particularly dangerous section of the country, the still-growing acres of birch and poplar were probably the safest in all of Zexen. As if to illustrate this, a single Holly Shrub skipped out into the middle of the sunny track, took one look at Leo and his massive stallion, and darted into the shrubbery on the other side. Leo shook his head and urged his mount onward. It was good to be in friendly, familiar territory again.

Other than Percival, Leo was the only one of the six knights whose home was not inside the walls of Vinay del Zexay. Instead, the Gallen family home lay back from the city proper, amid the outlying fields and forest. Even before the time of trade guilds and councilmen, the Gallens had been nobility, holders of lands and titles. Leo’s own list of titles only stretched to that of his family name and rank, and his secondary honor as a knight of Zexen, but that was plenty enough for him. These days, the only land under his command was that surrounding his ancestral home. He couldn’t help thinking of it in those terms.

The building looming towards him beyond the sunlit branches of the forest was the very definition of a venerable country estate. Unlike the younger buildings in the city, the Gallen home was only built of stone as far as its foundations. The original structure, the walls darker and more weathered than those of later additions, was built of wood and stucco with leaded glass windows looking out on either side of the stout front door.

Several expansions had been tacked onto the house here and there, some at ground level and some higher, all built of materials more readily available than the stone found near the coast. Likewise, thatch covered the roof instead of the more fashionable tile shingles of the city. He didn’t mind. It was home and it would have looked strange had it been any other way.

Because it was primarily a port and trade nation, there were few farmers in Zexen. However, agriculture did exist inside its boundaries and quite a bit of it happened on Gallen land. It was only just past noon and so the surrounding land was busy with locals cultivating their individual plots.

Bypassing the front door completely- Leo could not remember the last time it had been opened, though he was sure it must have been used at some point- he directed his horse back through the sections of farmland towards the stables, where he left his charger in the care of a new and very young stable boy. Anywhere else, Leo might have wondered about the boy’s ability, but he knew his steward Sanson would not choose poorly.

Slinging his saddle bags over one shoulder, Leo turned and crossed the yard to the back door. The upper half of the door thrown open to let in the spring sun, he had only to unlatch the bottom half in order to admit himself. The sudden contrast from light to darkness forced Leo to pause a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the kitchen. He couldn’t help smiling a little at the familiar warmth and the dusty, spicy scent of dried herbs hanging in bunches from the rafters. He squinted at the woman bending before the fireplace, a mobcap hiding her hair and apron obscuring most of her dress.

“Mrs. Bella?” he asked tentatively.

The woman turned and stood, showing herself to be far too tall, too thin, and above all too young to be the family cook.

“You’re home!”

Leo found himself confronted with a rear assault and had to hastily retreat in order to avoid being overwhelmed by the short, stout woman attempting to squeeze through the door behind him. He turned in time to catch her backbreaking embrace and returned it with a gentler one.

“Hello, Mrs. Bella,” he said with a smile. At almost eighty years, Mrs. Bella was still sprightly and strong for a woman of such advanced age. Nearly as thick and round as one of her gigantic black kettles, she was always bustling about busy with something. Her green eyes twinkled up at him, half-hidden behind merry wrinkles formed from long years of countless smiles.

“Oh, Goddess be praised! We had so hoped you’d come home this time!” she gushed. “It’s been much too long, simply ages since you were here last! We all missed you so much! Will you be staying long?”

Leo smiled down at her- given his six foot, three inches and her four-foot-eleven there was no other direction in which to smile.

“A little while. Perhaps a week or so. I trust the alliance will at least last that long.”

Mrs. Bella nodded, the iron gray curls that had escaped her mobcap bobbing agreement. “It will be a pleasure to have you home again. Such a pity you can’t stay longer, though I know there isn’t much for you to do here. Sanson’s kept things in perfect order as usual. I know you’ll find everything just as it should be.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bella.”

She waved him off with a work-reddened hand. “Pishaw. It’s my pleasure. Now go and put your things away. I’ll see to dinner, I imagine you’re hungry after such a long ride.”

As had happened so often in his youth, Leo found himself being propelled towards the door by the petite cook. He was far too big to trouble her by getting underfoot in trying to help cook or steal cookies. Still, he cast her a sheepish smile over one broad shoulder as he exited and left her to her domain. Sanson, only a few years younger than Ms. Bella, stood tall and thin and perfectly starched, waiting in the foyer.

“Lord Leo, welcome home, the steward intoned gravely, giving a short bow. Leo shook his head.

“I’ll never get used to your calling me that.”

“Nor will I, my lord,” said Sanson, rising from his bow with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you any specific plans for this evening, my lord?”

“Not tonight, no,” Leo answered after considering briefly. “I’ve had my fill of horses for the moment.”

“Understandable, sir.” Sanson nodded. “You’ll find your room ready for you.”

“Thank you, Sanson.”

The elderly servant bowed out, and Leo turned and climbed the stairs to his room. It had not always belonged to him but to his parents, before their deaths several years ago. His father- a good fifteen years his mother’s senior- had succumbed to old age, his heart giving out long before his strong spirit would have. Illness had claimed his mother two years later. Having no brothers, no sisters, no cousins, indeed no immediate family at all, Leo had been the sole heir of the estate. He’d been only mildly stunned when, upon returning home, he found all of his belongings moved into the room that had belonged to the manor’s former master. It had been awkward at first, but apparently grown lords belonged in the grandest room in the house, so Leo had let Sanson have his way regarding the new accommodations. It wasn’t as if Leo spent much time at home, much less his new room - too often he was at Brass Castle or the front lines attempting to settle the conflict of the month.

Although Leo missed his home when called away, he could not often find time or excuse to visit. He had no remaining family to care for, and Sanson ran things ably in his absence. As a career knight, Leo was married to his work, though he was often told what a cold and cruel lover combat could be. Sanson had once made subtle hints about the pros and cons of the choices between practical marriage and making heirs of distant relations. Leo was only too aware that the Gallen line would end with him, whether he married or not. Granted, his own father had been only a few years younger than Leo was now when he had married, but Leo did not foresee such an event in his immediate future. However, it was not something he wanted to bother about now, and so he put the matter out of his head.

The master bedroom of the Gallen home held an odd cross of personal and professional trappings. Zexen and Gallen heraldry mounted on one wall, a mirror facing them from the opposite side of the room. A monstrous bedstead hung with slightly faded damask stood against the far wall between the two windows with a chest overflowing with bits or armor and other military gear at its foot. Books of poetry and history competed for space with tomes military tactics on the crowded bookshelf. A stack of half-completed reports had been pushed to one side on the writing table, forgotten in favor of a few pages of suddenly inspired verse. Leo ignored these for the moment, instead concentrating on ridding himself of armor and uniform. It seemed ages since he’d worn civilian clothes, and he felt strangely light without the added weight of both armor and rank. He felt more like part of the household in simple jacket and trousers. Tired as he was from the long ride, sitting down to a book or writing or anything else involving a chair did not appeal to him in the least. Stealing down the back stairs and out one of the many side doors, he sought the kennels.

The three massive Great Danes lay stretched and lazing in the afternoon sun, all of them apparently asleep. Their twitching noses awoke them in a matter of minutes. The largest of the beasts jumping to his feet and bounding towards his master, the others following, barking madly. Leo caught the animals with open arms, alternately scruffing heads and shoulders and fending off slobbering tongues.

“Enough!” he cried at last, laughing. “Be still! Sit!”

His companions, tongues lolling and rumps wagging along with their tails, obeyed at once. They stood again as Leo reached and petted them, greeting each animal properly.

“Griffin, how are you? I hope you haven’t been digging in Sanson’s roses again. Duke, are you behaving yourself? Not deviling Griffin or your sister, are you? Speaking of your sister… Duchess, my pretty girl! Been keeping these rogues in line for me? Well done, well done. Now then, shall we go for a walk?”

The dogs wagged their tails in agreement and hurried after him as he strode off towards the nearby woods.

It was late when they returned, the sun already sunk below the rolling horizon. Lights gleamed soft and warm from inside the manor house, something Leo had sorely missed at Brass Castle. Ms. Bella had outdone herself as usual, and her culinary genius did not go wasted on one accustomed to military rations. The simple act of eating actual food once more proved to be a delight in itself, though he found the long table filled only with food disconcertingly empty. Rather than dwell on its emptiness, Leo finished and took himself upstairs.

A bath and some warm wine improved his mood somewhat and he found himself finally ready to sit and be still. The spring evening still held a lingering winter bite to it and so a fire had been lit in the grate in his room. Griffin at his feet and Duke and Duchess lying on either side of his chair, Leo took up the few sheaves of random poetry and scanned them. Leo had two great weaknesses to which he would never admit: one was sherbet, the other poetry. Most of what he had written was sentimental nonsense and he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or blush at his own foolishness. Some, however, were rather good. Taking a pen from the inkwell, he circled the acceptable lines. Percival had often joked to him about Lord Salome’s flowery prose, penned for the benefit of Lady Chris. It was true Lord Salome’s verse was poetry in name only. Remembering Percival’s mock lament that Lady Chris would never be properly wooed brought a smile to Leo’s face. He had difficulty imagining Lady Chris sitting through a serenade or a reading of an ode to her eyebrow. She would never have patience for such sentimental “nonsense”, as she called it. Lord Salome’s deadpan attempts at poetry made Leo cringe, but if they pleased Lady Chris, that was all that truly mattered.

Appraising the scribblings on the paper, Leo found himself unable to believe what he was considering, although it wasn’t as if he would have to send it when he’d completed it. Perhaps he would, perhaps he wouldn’t. With all the fuss concerning Lady Chris and Lord Salome, it was doubtful anyone would take much note of his own modest romantic endeavors. Truth be told, he was unsure how the object of his bashful affections would react to something so sentimental. Lady Chris had little taste for hearts and flowers, and he wondered how much more or less would his verse be appreciated. Aurella was someone who often went out of her way to prove she was a soldier’s soldier, but thinking back to the few times he’d spoken to her not as a fellow soldier but as a person… She received so little praise for her work. Perhaps, if nothing else, it would prove to her that she was not invisible. Inky weapon in hand, Leo prepared to do battle with the written word.

_Shall I compare thy beauty to a rose and earn thy mocking scorn?  
I would instead, make bolder still and compare thee to a thorn._

_No feeble prick of greening stem nor heady pinking flower,  
I would not choose, but rather this: a wild bramble bower._

_It will not take the softer sand to make unto its bed,  
But seeketh out the harsher ground that chokes the roses dead._

_The brickles that do pierce the flesh with their ungentle bite  
Do form a thorny hedge and hide their treasure from all sight_

_For if man knew what beauty lay hidden deep inside  
He would at once plunge in his fist to seize what brambles hide_

_The woody coils, the bristling spike wound tightly to defend  
The softest, fragrant crimson heart from what fools may intend_

_I would not dare to reach inside instead I strip my glove  
And offer out my bared hand in kindest, yielding love. ___

Leo scanned what he had written with a critical eye. It looked rather nice, written neatly in his thick, generous hand. However, just because one was a connoisseur of poetry did not mean that one could write poetry. Couplets, he felt, were a rather crude form of communication, but the sonnet had always eluded him. Hopefully she was not as snobbish concerning verse as he was; with any luck she would at the very least find his words amusing perhaps even charming. In the presence of still more luck, his modest composition might even warrant a reply.

He held the tawny paper a moment longer, in order to allow the ink to dry, and then folded it neatly in seconds and then thirds. If he was going to be foolishly romantic, he might as well go about it properly. Taking a stick of red sealing wax, he held it briefly in the flame of the oil lamp and let the melted color drip onto the overlapping edges of the paper. He stopped short in the act of stamping the still soft wax with his signet ring. Sweet Goddess what was he thinking? That would be entirely too obvious- perhaps not to her but to the entire corps. The wax was beginning to set and Leo rummaged inside his writing case for something else with which to stamp his humble note. Large fingers closed around a curiously small round shape. Leo drew it out of the box and held it up to the light. The object glinted softly gold in the warm light: a lady’s signet ring impressed with the petaled face of an open rose.

 _How very fitting._ Leo mused to himself, remembering that his mother had marked her letters with this same stamp when she wrote to his father away at the front. Turning the ring over, he pressed it into the cooling wax, the impression leaving a blossom of shining red. Perhaps she would appreciate the double joke of the briar flower. Leo smiled self-deprecatingly and reached to discern the opinion of the only female in the room.

“I’m a perfect fool, aren’t I, Duchess?”

Duchess cheerfully accepted a scratch behind her ear and thumped her tail to show she thought no such thing.


	6. Masque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is more dancing and a inequalities are brought to light.

“I really _don’t_ see what this has to do with anything.”

“Oh don’t be such a spoil-sport! It’s fun!”

“It’s foolishness.”

“It is not! You’re just cranky because you always have to stand guard the whole time.”

“I _choose_ to stand guard the whole time.”

“You aren’t any fun.” Felicia made a face at her knight in a less characteristic display of childishness. Aurella sighed.

“Felicia you don’t need to ask me for permission. If you want to go, then go. Everyone is invited. There will only be a volunteer staff standing guard so no one will have to worry about drawing the long straw.”

“But why don’t you want to come?” Felicia insisted.

“Because I have no desire to make a fool of myself.”

“But I _want_ you to come!” her squire protested.

“Enough!” Aurella snapped. “I will be there, but as a spectator. Be content.”

Felicia’s demeanor conveyed she was anything but content, but she kept her silence and sulked off towards the women’s barracks the better to gossip with the other squires. Aurella sighed and shook her head. Balls and masques and the like were best left to the young anyway. It disturbed her slightly that she was beginning to think of herself as “old” but she did not dwell on the thought. Felicia was young enough to be her daughter. Perhaps that was why Aurella seemed to feel more and more stuffy and the younger cadets seemed to grow sillier with each passing season. Still it did not matter. Felicia’s insistence that her knight-master attend the Fool’s Day masque as anything but a guard was absurd. Aurella had never been to a grand affair as anything but a soldier on duty and this year she planned to come dressed as the same thing she went as every year: herself.

In the back of her mind, Aurella rather wished she could for once attend as something other than part of the security force. However, she knew she could never go as anything else. Knighthood was expensive. A horse and squire, family debts and a meager budget would not allow for a costume and she did not possess the time or skill to make one herself. It didn’t truly matter. She would still get to share in part in the festivities. She wouldn’t be on duty the whole of the night. She’d be able to sneak a dance and a mug of cider and that was all she wanted anyway. Better to stand at ease in half-dress than to risk breaking an ankle tripping over pointy little heeled shoes and layers of petticoats just for the sake of a dance and a drink.

By the time the week of the masque rolled around, Aurella was thoroughly sick of the idea. No one, least of all the little squires, seemed to be able to speak of anything else. The corps and staff chattered ceaselessly about food, costumes and other preparations. There was a sudden madness among women who usually favored leather and wool for silk and lace as costumes were sewn or bought. The men too seemed hampered by the unusual preoccupation of what they would wear for the occasion. Even the staunch and stuffy few who had volunteered for guard duty with her seemed vaguely envious of the excitement of others. Aurella, however, was left feeling unsure whether to laugh or scream at the absurdity of it all. As it turned out, she was instead provoked to tears.

Along with an invoice from the quartermaster and a notice outlining the shifts she’d be standing guard, a small folded envelope hid innocently inside her pigeonhole. The paper was slightly finer than that of the military forms and bore a red seal stamped with the face of a rose. It was not addressed in her name, but it did not need to be. She knew whom it was from and the knowledge made the blood rise in her cheeks. In a place buzzing with activity such as Brass Castle, there were few opportunities for privacy. Aurella had learned that sometimes the most solitude one could have was in the center of a crowd and so she read each note one after the other as she made her way down the hall towards the stables. The quartermaster’s note and her schedule contained no new information, but their reading made her attention to the third missive less conspicuous. It was difficult to repress the smile and gentle blush that Sir Leo’s penned fancies always brought to her face, yet as she read she felt her lips drop and part and her insides grow cold and empty.

_The masque a person wears each day is naught but bared face  
With eyes and nose and grinning mouth to take the paper’s place_

_It is the part we play as though all actors on a stage  
Making speech and jest and threat as reading from a page_

_But when the paper face is donned, the figure draped in hood  
No more the role, but self is seen and truly understood._

_Sweet goddess…_ The paper fell and fluttered unnoticed from her hands to the floor. He expected to see her at the masque, not as a guard but as a guest! She had to agree it was a perfect excuse to however briefly put off their titles and enjoy the festival together. But she had already volunteered to serve that evening and it was unlikely she could beg off now. No one would be willing to trade an evening of delight for one of drudgery. Even if she should manage to get out of guard duty, she still could not attend. Like Ashgirl, she had nothing to wear. Her only dress had been burned upon her entry to the corps as per now defunct tradition. Not that it would have fit her anyway. She had been a wiry little thing of thirteen then, not the great, muscled beast of a woman she was now. Her civilian clothes- a simple jacket, two plain white blouses and a pair of dark leggings- were no more help than her departed dress and she hadn’t the money to spare on even a simple skirt and bodice. Aurella sighed at the bitter stroke of luck. It was probably just as well, and yet that did not lessen the sting of imagined injustice. With a final sigh she turned and left, heedless of the opened note still lying upon the floor. It did not, however, escape the notice of another female soldier. Picking it up she scanned the contents and abruptly blushed at accidentally discovering someone’s personal correspondence.

“What on earth is this doing here?” she wondered aloud. A butter-blond head dressed in imitation of her own popped up at her elbow.

“Oh! Dame Aurella must have dropped it,” exclaimed the teenaged imitator.

“Dame Aurella?”

“Yes, she gets those now and then. She won’t tell me who they’re from.”

“Does she now…” Lady Chris raised a slender eyebrow at the missive.

“Yes My Lady, she does. I’m sure I’ve begged her a hundred times to tell me even though it isn’t mannerly and I’d never tell a soul.”

Lady Chris had her doubts about the latter.

“What does it say?” the squire was attempting to peer over Chris’s much higher and armor-covered shoulder. Curling her fingers, Lady Chris folded the letter back in on itself with one hand.

“I believe this was intended for Dame Aurella’s eyes alone. What I read was read in innocence and quite by mistake.”

The girl blushed deeply, chastened. “Oh yes of course,” she quickly agreed. “Shall I return it to her?”

“No, I’ll give it to her.” Lady Chris answered, wisely tucking the note away in her pocket. “Get along with your duties Felicia.”

“Yes, Lady!” the girl saluted and hurried back to her chores.

Once rid of Aurella’s curious squire Lady Chris took out the note and examined it again. It bore no address or signature, only a broken red wax seal stamped with the face of a rose. The cryptic rhymes seemed to be hinting at the Fool’s Day masque, but Dame Aurella had been one of a handful to volunteer guard duty that evening. Who would be sending one of Percival’s sub-commanders flowering prose? Furthermore, hadn’t she seen this handwriting before on less sentimental topics? The letters were written thick and stolid in a heavy yet graceful hand. Surely not. It couldn’t be. Could it?

Hurrying to the salon Lady Chris crossed the floor to the table and rifled through a stack of documents. At last she found the paper she required and laid it on the table next to the note. Sweet Sadie. Lord Leo Gallen was writing poetry for one of the Lady Guard. And Goddess preserve us Dame Aurella apparently had not been tearing the missives into tiny fragments. Of all the corps it had always been a friendly running joke that Leo would remain an eternal bachelor. Aurella shared a similar status among the women in ranks. Perhaps it was only fitting the two of them should hit it off. Still, Chris’s mind boggled slightly at the notion. She found herself chuckling, whether over the idea of the relationship itself or the fact that Leo was a closet poet, she wasn’t sure. Apparently he hoped to meet up with Dame Aurella at the masque. However if she was on guard duty, that would make things difficult. Leo would be dreadfully disappointed when saw Aurella standing aside a doorway barefaced and in half-dress armor. Yes, something most definitely would have to be done about this. Pocketing the note once again, she strode off.

“Dame Aurella?” Percival blinked and looked up from sorting through a stack of papers.

“Yes, she’s been under your command before. Do you know who she is?” Lady Chris asked. Percival’s brows creased in confusion, but he nodded.

“Yes, I could pick her out. Good soldier.”

Chris nodded. This wasn’t much to go on. She pressed further. “She’s signed up for guard duty the night of the masque.”

Percival smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never known her to be much on frills or fashion. In fact,” he paused to relocate his quill, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her out of uniform.”

“A career soldier then?”

“Oh undoubtedly. The army is her life. She’s one of the old cadre, you know, one of the original Lady Guard, so I doubt she has any interest in anything that requires dressing up in anything but plate mail.”

Well. There went that idea.

“Why do you ask?”

Chris blinked, but recovered without missing a beat. “Well, her name is always on the volunteer list. I thought perhaps she might like a bit of time off for once.”

“A nice gesture,” Percival agreed, “but I doubt you’d really be doing her any favors. I don’t know her well, but I think she’d be happier watching a ball than dancing in the thick of it.”

“All right then. Good luck with your paperwork.”

Percival chuckled. “Thanks.”

\--

“Please Dame Aurella, I want you to come!” Felicia pleaded.

“Felicia, enough. I want you to stop with this foolishness. I am not going.”

“But why not!”

Felicia’s pleas were bordering on whining and it was beginning to grate on the older woman’s nerves.

“Because I do not wish to go. I have no desire to dress myself like a roast turkey just to strut around like a peacock with false plumes.”

Felicia pursed her lips petulantly.

“You do too.”

“No, I do not.”

“You always tell me to be honest, why are you telling me lies?”

Aurella stopped short and turned to face her squire, lips pressed together. Felicia’s eyes widened slightly, acutely aware she’d touched a nerve.

“Felicia,” Aurella’s voice was soft, “come here.”

Swallowing hard, the blonde girl followed her knight out of the traffic of the middle of the castle hall towards one of the windows set into the wall.

“I’m not lying to you, not completely. All right, I’d like to go to the masque.”

“Then why don’t you?” Felecia plead.

“Well for one, I really don’t want to get dressed up. I’d look like a sick goose.”

“No you wouldn’t, you’d—“

Aurella held up a hand to silence further protests.

“Secondly, I couldn’t get dressed up because I haven’t got a costume.”

“But—“

“I haven’t got the money to spend on frivolities, Felicia. I can barely support you and Cierelle. There isn’t time to make anything and I can barely thread a needle anyway. I can’t go because I cannot go. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am...”

\--

The night of the masque was beautiful, no one could have asked for a nicer evening. The night was cool but not cold, with only a few clouds coasting across the starry sky. The windows and doors to the battlements had been thrown open to the coolness to ease the burden of more layers of clothing than usual. The swish of silken skirts and soft click of heeled slippers replaced the usual tramp and stamp of heavy boots and clink of armor. Faces formerly hidden by visors were now obscured by decorative masks, some only covering the eyes, others the whole of the head. It was difficult indeed to tell who was who, but Aurella had learned the trick of telling a person despite their outward dress or hairstyle.

Felicia, robed in shell pink satin, her face covered by a half-mask edged in daisies, gave herself away with her giggling laugh. Lady’s Chris’s trademark platinum hair betrayed her despite an elegant pearl-colored costume that made Aurella think of a swan. Lord Salome’s straight and rigid stance identified him clearly enough as did Sir Roland’s much taller imitation of a granite column, Lord Boris’s contrapposto, and Percival’s farm-fisted way of gripping a goblet about its thin middle with the whole of his hand. Sir Leo, of course, as the largest man in the entire assembly was always easy to spot. It was therefore very curious that she had not yet picked him out. Perhaps he had not yet joined the festivities, though it had already been several hours since the masque had begun. Her shift would soon be over and she would be free to get a mug of cider for herself and perhaps sneak a dance with one of the male guard. How very odd. Ah well, it did not matter. She’d have other chances to converse with Sir Leo, but she couldn’t help the lingering disappointment.

The back kitchens were nearly as lively as the grand hall turned ballroom out in the main part of the castle. Tables and stools had been shoved aside to form a small dance floor where one of the gray-headed veterans due for retirement spun one of the little scullery girls in a lively jig. If Aurella remembered correctly, the young lady was the old Sergeant’s granddaughter. She smiled, watching both of them keep pace with the rapid notes of the single fiddle, finely fit old age easily matching youth step for step.

“There you are.”

Aurella felt a heavy step on the floor and a massive hand upon her shoulder. She looked up and felt her brows rise in astonishment.

“Lord Gallen?” she blinked at his pleasant smile. She took a moment to glance at the rest of

him and noticed that he wore neither costume, nor mask, but was clad in a simple half-dress uniform just as she was herself. “What are you doing here?”

“Serving guard duty.”

Aurella couldn’t help gawking slightly. “But…the masque?”

He shrugged. “I’m not required to attend. Besides, it would have been insufferably dull to wait through it by myself.”

Aurella couldn’t stop the heat creeping into her cheeks no more than she could help the look of bewilderment stealing across her face.

“Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance?”

Allowing her bemusement to blossom into a smile, she took his offered hand. She had wished for the chance to steal a dance and drink, but she had not expected this. In the back of her mind she wondered what fairy godmother had tipped off Lord Gallen or if he himself had taken notice of her lack of reply and the fact that her name had not moved from the registrar. Most likely the latter. Regardless, she was pleased she had not missed a chance to share an evening with him. Though of noble blood, he seemed more at ease among the others in uniform. She had no doubt that attempting to suffer a masque in costume either alone or in her company would have been unbearable for a number of reasons. Besides, she would not have liked to see him dressed as something he was not. They were both most comfortable in their own clothes and color, the livery of Zexen. Leo was a soldier first, a gentleman second and she had never been anything other than a maiden of war. Dress uniforms were bad enough, costumes… Aurella had trouble suppressing a snerk at the sheer absurdity of the idea. This was who she was, who he was, and she was glad he had chosen to meet her at a place where they stood on common ground.

The hour growing late, their respite almost over, she and Leo went out through the servant’s corridor to the battlements. Partygoers in silk and velvet already wandered the moonlit balcony, one or two orange-clad figures standing stiffly among them, backs up against the machinated wall. The two off-duty knights chose to hang back from the flickering candle and torchlight and the distantly wafting music of waltzes and minuettes, instead hiding in the cool shadows of the far end of the stone promenade. After their series of jigs and reels, the night air felt blessedly cool and pleasant. They stood for a while, looking out over the darkened plains, the moonlight glazing the rustling grass in silver.

“I’m glad you decided not to come,” Sir Leo remarked.

Aurella couldn’t help a smirk. “Indeed Milord, and why is that?”

He caught her amused smile and returned it. “Because then I would have had to go.”

They laughed.

“I do believe we had the nicer party,” she agreed. Lord Gallen nodded. He stood silent for a moment and then turned to face her.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for my…well, for my lack of thought concerning my last note.”

Aurella waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. Why would you know and why should you care? Besides, I hate dressing up anyway.”

He chuckled. “So do I.”

They contemplated the landscape a bit more. Aurella tilted her head and looked up at him.

“Why did you choose to stand guard?”

Was he _blushing_?

“Because you were.”

Dear goddess, he _was_ blushing! Aurella began to feel heat creeping into her own cheeks.

“It would not have been any fun to stand there by myself against a wall, sipping oversweet wine and listening to Roland ignore me.”

She had to snicker at that and Lord Gallen helped.

“To be quite honest, I don’t like masques. I always feel a perfect fool in a costume. It detracts from the celebration, I think. I suppose so much frummery is fine for others, but I feel more like an old plow horse decorated in the parade silks of a circus pony. I just…it seems so silly.”

“I know what you mean,” she nodded. “Can you honestly imagine me in a farthingale?”

Leo considered this for a moment, so much so that he began to stroke his chin. Aurella rolled her eyes and batted at the hand combing his whiskers.

“Oh stop it,” she chided. Leo smiled.

“Well, it’s an interesting mental image, I will say that, but I agree with you. I don’t think it would suit you very well.”

“I should think not. I’m not a Lady.”

“Yes you are…”

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. She looked at it a moment, her eyes following up his arm until her gaze rested on his softly smiling face. Aurella turned, cheeks warm, unable to meet his eyes.

“Who was it speaking of plow horses dressed as circus ponies?”

“Aurella…”

His hand slid from her shoulder to her hand. Taking her other hand with his, he gently pulled her to face him. Uncertainly, she raised her face to meet his eyes.

“Blood lines aren’t important. We cannot help being born into or out of station. We are what we are, and what we are is soldiers.”

Staring stupidly up at him, she swallowed hard at the lump that had mysteriously appeared in her throat. What on earth was he playing at?

“I would choose the plow horse to ride with me into battle than any circus pony, no matter how gay.”

Swallowing hard against the sudden knot of emotions that had risen in her throat, she took a step back and out of his grasp. For some reason he seemed surprised at this, his confused expression kindling her apprehension into anger.

“Lord Gallen,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I thank you for the compliment, but I must remind you that you are Lieutenant-General, whereas I am merely Sergeant-Captain.”

The look of perplexity deepened. “You are Sergeant-Major. I put in the commendation myself.”

It was her turn to stare. Not knowing what else to do, she inclined her head politely. “I believe you, Lord Gallen, but apparently someone else did not. I have received no such honors.”

Perplexity furrowed into a frown, and then dismay as realization stole over him. “My apologies,” he told her, bowing formally. “I will see this remedied.”

“Thank you,” she replied, feeling the gratitude behind the words, “but it would make no difference. We are still divided by rank.”

Something like hope kindled in his dark eyes, forcing Aurella to look away.

“And if we were not?”

“We _are_ ,” she insisted flatly. “I will not risk my honor or my station as a knight.”

“Nor would I,” he hastened to assure her. “Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

She nodded, accepting. “I believe you.”

“It seems my errand is not yet done.” It was an observation, not necessarily a question. Having no answer to supply, she gave none. “Will you grant me leave to correct this?”

It was rude and a breach of etiquette, but she shrugged and shook her head. “If you feel you must. You owe me no favors. Do as you will.”

Without being dismissed, she turned and walked away.


	7. Homage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aurella seeks advice from an old friend.

The Victor’s Garden was a very different sort of garden despite the name. Although there were an abundance of flowers, bushes, and trees, there were other things were planted here in the natural mound of earth beyond the walls of Brass Castle and Vinay Del Zexay. Row after row of stone markers- some huge and elaborate, others only etched letters away from their origins of plain, blank rock- stretched across the open field towards the distant tree line. From conquering horseback general to back-stabbed deserting foot soldier, here rested the heroes and failures of the Zexen federation army. For hundreds of years the people had laid their soldiers here, the thick horizontal slabs of brownstone engraved with curiously spelled epitaphs still testified that men over twenty generations dead slept beneath. More modern markers stood upright, miniature monoliths of plain white stone with a name, a date, and a pictograph of what branch they had served in. Only a few of these were blank.

One of a handful of foreigners laid to rest amid legions of military men, and yet probably the largest, strongest body ever interred, Hazel had been a legend while she lived, mostly because of her tremendous height and strength. At nearly seven foot tall, she had been a giantess, though there was nothing mythical about her. Even among the other unusually tall people of her family, her stature had been unmatched. Yet her daunting presence had not saved her from her one great flaw: her heritage. She, like Aurella and the others of the so-called “Lady Guard”, had been a commoner as well as a foreigner, the first of her kind.

Looking back now, the insults, the slander, the hazing...it was all only a step in the process. Something they had had to bear so that others would not have to suffer through the same thing. She and Hazel had gone through much together. They’d been gossiped over and accused of every slander the imaginations of nosey good wives and embittered noblemen could think of. She and Hazel had laughed about it all, content to know themselves that not one syllable was true. They had known the truth, the other women had known, and that had been enough.

Giants, contrary to whatever fairy stories might imply, did not perish falling from beanstalks, they died by much more common means. Even a large heart cannot support so huge a body for very long and her gentle heart had given out one quiet evening in August. Hazel had not died a soldier’s death, no steel had pierced her flesh, only the cold hand of time. Her burial, therefore, had been an insult. Only through dizzying legal wheedling had Aurella managed to procure the plot that had belonged to Hazel since the day she enlisted as a young girl of fifteen. She had won her friend space in the garden and a headstone, but beyond that there had been no help. Hazel had been given anonymous death without name, without rank, without honors.

Her empty headstone and those of her fallen sisters could be distinguished from those of deserters and enemy combatants only by the flowers the surviving Lady Guard had planted there. Each plain gray marker had a carefully cultivated rose bush peeking from behind it. Hazel’s little shrub was the highest, reaching above Aurella’s knees. It had been agreed upon that the few women in the plot ought to have something to hold them apart from the other fallen soldiers. These were not hothouse roses grown in the gardens of royalty, but tamed wildflowers grown from cuttings gleaned from the forest. Aurella had expected the blossoms to open their natural shade of pink of palest peach, but they had come up white. A result, the groundskeeper had said, of so much calcium in the soil.

With a sigh, Aurella crouched down and hugged her knees to her chest, facing the stone. There were nine white rose bushes in the Victor’s Garden. While the Lady Guard had formed a close sisterhood, Hazel had been her first and best friend.

“What do you think?” she asked the marker. “I want to believe that his motives are honest, but I’m sure you’d agree that’s a lot to swallow. Maybe he does fancy me? I’m inclined to believe it’s true, for who would be interested in my body now? If I’ve caught his eye, it’s got to be for other reasons.” Though what those reasons could be, she couldn’t fathom. Admittedly he’d told her what he found appealing about her, but it was the sort of common interests and platonic compatibility to be found between any friends. Shaking her head, she sighed.

“You might not have an answer, but I know you’d tell me something sensible. You know he promised a promotion? It didn’t come. I wasn’t surprised, but he was. I don’t think he was acting either. Lord Gallen’s a knight. He’s learned to hide his feelings, to play his cards close to his chest, but I think I genuinely shocked him. He’d no idea I was still a Sergeant-Captain.”

Hazel’s rosebush quivered in the wind, its deep green leaves rustling gently.

“Here’s what I can’t decide,” Aurella confessed. “Is he trying to be honorable, or just trying to arrange things more conveniently for himself?”

Neither tomb nor shrub offered an answer, but Aurella could hear her friend’s voice plainly inside her own head. Not a memory, but almost as if the taller woman was speaking to her as she once had when they were still cadets.

_Why on earth would he do such a thing? If he wanted your virtue- what you’ve got left, anyway- he’d have taken it by now. Sword and shield, woman, he’s Lieutenant-Captain! Who’s to say ‘no’ to him?_

“But he’s never asked me,” Aurella murmured, “never even suggested it.”

_Exactly. Goddess knows why he’s taken a shine to you, but he has. He could have been a bully, but he hasn’t. Hell, he’s saved your life. He could have called your debt, but he hasn’t done that either. Instead, he’s tried to do you a good turn. Sounds like his shock was real. He might be the strong silent type, but Lord Gallen’s no actor._

“You think he’s sincere, then?”

_Have you ever known him not to be?_

“No…”

 _I think,_ the imagined words were slow and carefully chosen, _that if he’s trying to correct past wrongs, that there is an advantage to be had. If something doesn’t happen soon, you’ll be drummed out anyway. Why not let him know? He’s got an inkling already. Lord Gallen is exactly the sort of person we need standing behind us. Indeed, there’s a woman running things now. We may never get another chance. Bend that stiff neck for once and let him help you if he wants._

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she mused to herself. “There’s nowhere to go but up.”

_Or out._


	8. Memento Mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are damsels.

As Lieutenant-General and one of the Six Mighty Knights of the Zexen army’s high command, Leo Gallen was accustomed to having his orders followed. If Dame Aurella was to be believed- and she had no reason to lie- his commendation to have her promoted to Sergeant-Major had been ignored. It took him the better part of a day to track the paper trail back to...nowhere. It was as if the commendation had simply vanished. Percival swore up and down it had been filed, as did the chief clerk. After that, however, the fate of the directive became foggy and soon disappeared completely. Asking did no good. What with a hundred-odd clerks and many more commanding officers, everyone had a different answer- many none at all.

Undaunted, he took himself to the archives just to make certain that the disappearance had in fact been an accident and not the result of some sort of bureaucratic black hole. It wasn’t easy to find the volumes relating to Aurella’s cohort. There were names and ranks of her and her contemporaries, but of the Lady Guard’s activities, he could find no mention. He tried asking the librarian in charge of the castle archives, but the old man had simply shrugged and directed Leo back to the section he’d just left. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to be thorough, Leo flipped through each and every volume on the shelf, but found no further mention of female soldiers anywhere. On paper, it seemed as if the Lady Guard virtually did not exist.

They did, exist, however. There they stood, wrangling foot soldiers and cadets, barking orders, planning strategy, practically indistinguishable from their male counterparts. Many of them, he noticed, wore their hair short, not just cropped to the jaw, but shorn close like a man’s. One of these short-haired knights did a slight double-take as she noticed him looking at her. Automatically, she raised a hand in salute, as well as a questioning eyebrow. Figuring now was as good a time as any, Leo crossed the training yard and returned salute.

“Lord Gallen,” she greeted him stiffly.

“Dame,” he replied, not knowing her name.

“How may I be of help?” She held herself proudly, standing at attention. Although she was shorter than Aurella, her head just barely level with his shoulder, she gave the impression of much greater height.

“At ease,” he told her, waving away the formality. The woman relaxed her stance, resting the head of her axe on the ground. Removing her gloves and folding her hands over the hilt, Leo noticed the first two fingers of her right hand were missing. Hastily, he returned his gaze to her face. “What is your name, soldier?”

She managed to swallow the snort, but only just barely. “Henrietta, Milord.”

“You have no other?” he asked, brows furrowing.

“No,” she replied flatly. “I am Sergeant-Captain Henrietta of the Second Infantry.”

This was extremely peculiar. Aurella had no surname to augment the one she’d been given at birth. Did none of the Lady Guard have names to accompany their station as knights? A few women had stopped to watch them, all of them among the oldest soldiers present in the courtyard. _The rest of the Lady Guard,_ he surmised.

“How long have you served?” Leo asked her, doing his best to be polite.

“Thirty-three years, Milord.”

“As a knight?”

She swallowed visibly, but answered calmly, “Thirteen.”

Leo nodded gravely, trying to think. Henrietta’s sharp voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Am I to be dismissed, Milord?” She didn’t mean from his presence.

“No indeed,” he assured her. “It seems you are overdue for a promotion.”

Although her face remained impassive and bland, her eyes bored into his. She wasn’t afraid exactly, her true feelings hidden behind walls as thick as those of Brass Castle, but she was most certainly wary.

“Madam,” he began, watching as her stony features sank into a scowl. “I apologize for this oversight. I would like to correct it, if I may.”

“Indeed,” the word was bitter and disbelieving. “You wish to help us?”

He nodded solemnly. “I do.”

The look she gave him was one of appraisal, as if trying to measure him with her eyes alone. Leo got the distinct impression she found him lacking.

“You wish for a damsel to rescue, Lord Gallen?” she asked. “You shall have one. I give you nine.”

He blinked, taken aback somewhat. Not many would dare to address him in such a tone.

“Nine women. Nine soldiers. All of them have offered everything they had to their country, yet they have received no titles, no honor. Rescue them, if you can, from anonymity.”

“Where shall I find these soldiers?” he asked. The woman- Henrietta- actually sneered at the question.

“In the garden beyond these walls.” With that she saluted and turned away, not even waiting for dismissal. Dumbfounded, Leo stood and watched her retreating back, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

\--

There were gardens a plenty beyond the walls of Brass Castle. Being near the fertile plains of the Grasslands, much of the surrounding country was devoted to agriculture. While there were many women working in the fields, none of them were, or ever had been, soldiers. Riding away from the even plains of wheat and barley toward the rolling earthworks that surround the castle, realization struck him.

The Victor’s Garden loomed to one side of the road, nearer to the forest than the castle, it’s bald mound bristling like a pincushion with headstones and monuments. Had Henrietta set him on a fool’s errand? Spurring Reilan onward, he decided to investigate just in case.

There was no fence or gate surrounding the hill, just a well-trodden track winding up and over the natural mound. This close to the cliffs the soil was solid rock only a few feet down. The hill made the perfect burial ground for soldiers that would otherwise have required stone tombs or burning after the style of the Lizards. Dismounting, he led his charger slowly past the monuments and markers of fallen soldiers. An hour later found him feeling both angry and foolish. Turning to make his way back toward the castle, he noticed a bright swatch of color amid the low brown grass and leafless shrubs.

“Excuse me?” he called and the swatch stood up. A woman with fading red hair rose from a crouch where she’d been trimming a small bush.

“Sir?” she replied, confused, and then snapped to attention and saluted. Another soldier.

“At ease,” Leo told her at once. “What are you doing out here?”

“Pruning the roses, Milord.”

“Roses?” he echoed.

“Yes, Milord.” She gestured to a low hunk of curved, gray stone. If she had not told him, he would not have known its purpose, small and weathered, and all but hidden by the rose bush. There was no mark, not even a name upon the weather-stained surface, and he wondered at this.

“Who lies here?” he asked.

“Here?” she turned and looked down at the blank marker, as if expecting to find a name there. Closing her eyes briefly, she looked up at him again. “Cynthia, Milord. Glenda lies next to her; Alana and Flora farther down.” She pointed, indicating each spot in turn.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, he thought he detected a few other simple plots adorned with low rose bushes. Facing the grave she had been tending, he inclined his head and saluted. The woman blinked, then followed suit.

“What is your name, soldier?” The words were kinder this time.

“They call me Willow, Milord,” she said with a shy smile, “but my given name is Maureen.”

He knew better now than to ask if she had a surname.

“How long have you served?”

“Thirty-two years, Milord.”

“As a knight?”

“Thirteen.”

“Will you show me the others?”

Nodding, she turned to lead the way.

“As I said, Cynthia lies here. She was cut down during the Battle of Long Grass. Do you know she spotted the enemy sneaking behind the encampment? They meant to attack the supply wagons and medical tents. She stopped them by setting fire to the grass. She was killed not long after.”

Leo nodded solemnly, mentally tallying the woman’s honors in his head. A ribbon for participation in the battle, a Silver Hind for bravery and valor, perhaps even a Shield of Merit. He had the distinct feeling, however, that the woman’s dress uniform had never known such adornments.

“Glenda lies here. She also died at the Battle of Long Grass. There was not much of her left to bury. She was cut down, then caught in the brush fire. Beneath her body, however, was found a Karayan child, still alive. I confess, I do not know what became of her.”

 _Golden Hart for meritorious conduct,_ Leo thought, _and perhaps a Federation Shield for protection of a non-combative._

Alana and Flora had also met their ends at the Battle of Long Grass, though less abruptly. Alana had been in the final charge and taken a wound to the leg. Ignoring her own pain, she had spent long hours helping to gather the wounded once the smoke had cleared. It was not until much later that she realized the seriousness of her own injury and succumbed to infection. Alana’s tale was similar. Charging to the defense of a troop of foot soldiers who had gotten separated from the main force, her sword arm had been badly broken. It would have to be taken off at the elbow, but she would not survive the surgery, bleeding out before she could awake.

Two lay side-by-side, both claimed during the Battle of Shallow Water. Edith and Josette had been sisters, twins. Having no mounts, the two of them had fought back-to-back, up to their knees in the marshes near Duck Town. When their commander’s horse had been cut out from under him, between the two of them, they were able to pull him out from under the dead animal to safety. Several that day were saved from a watery grave by their hands, but the sisters would not leave the marsh alive. They died as they had lived; together. Dawn found the two of them impaled on the same spear.

There was only one victim of the most recent clash, the Fire Bringer War. Claudette had lost her life carrying valuable information back to Brass Castle. The only reason she had escaped Harmonian imprisonment was because they had thought she was dead. By the time she she could finally receive medical treatment, it was true.

“You said there were nine,” Leo commented as Maureen began to lead them back toward the path and the road to Brass Castle. “I count only seven.”

She paused for a long moment, her slender body standing black like a naked tree against the orange burn of the setting sun. At length she turned and nodded, heading back up the path and toward the treeline.

“This way, Milord.”

The graves were humbler here, he noticed. Most of the markers were lower, and of poorer quality stone. Few of them bore names, all of which appeared to be masculine. Toward the far edge of a line of graves, he marked the tell tale rosebush. The slate headstone had been cracked in half, perhaps rendered by a fallen branch as it was closest to the encroaching forest, practically among the tree trunks. Someone had stacked the broken shard neatly against the bit still standing.

“Emma lies here.”

“At which battle did she fall?” Leo asked when at last they stopped before the broken grave.

“None, Milord,” she answered softly.

“How did she die, then?”

“She bled to death.”

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Knowing he should not ask, Leo opened his mouth anyway. “Go on.”

Maureen peered up at him with penetrating green eyes, a curl pulling loose in the breeze to bounce against her forehead.

“Regulations were different then, Milord,” she began. “We take much closer care of each other now.”

Shaking her head at his puzzled expression, she went on. “A woman with child cannot serve in the army,” she explained with great patience. “She had no idea until the bleeding began. The next morning found her dead.”

Leo blinked. “She was pregnant?”

“Through no fault of her own.”

Too shocked to make further comment, Leo watched, dumbstruck as Maureen turned and followed the edge of the forest around the curve of the hill. It was a struggle not to trip over the damaged stones and ersatz markers that dotted the landscape like broken teeth. Here and there, the rusted remains of a Karayan short sword jutted from the ground, or the rotted shaft of a Lizard spear. This was the area of the cemetery set aside for foreigners and enemy combatants. At the far edge, just below an enormous tree that seemed to mark the boundary between that of the resting place of Zexen citizens and aliens, he spotted another rose bush.

“Hazel lies here,” Maureen told him. “The first of us to fall.”

Her rose bush bore this out, for it was taller and fuller than the rest, nearly obscuring the stone with its thorny branches. Still a bit thunderstruck from the last revelation, Leo stood silent, waiting for her to continue.

“She did not die in battle either,” Maureen’s voice sounded small in the empty expanse of trees and graves. “She was a giantess, easily a head taller than yourself, but giants do not live long. Her heart gave out. Her hands never touched a sword.”

“Why is she buried all the way out here?” he managed at last, and then promptly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Maureen shook her head sadly.

“Her father was a giant from the northern mountains. He married a Zexen woman. Because of this, she was buried not as knight or even a citizen, but as a foreigner, halfway between friends and enemies.”

Leo did not know what to say, only followed mutely as Maureen led the way back to Brass Castle. He lost her somewhere in the shuffle and flurry of the market courtyards. Perhaps it was just as well. He had no idea what he would have said to her anyway.

Nine damsels to rescue. How he was to do that, he did not know. Why these women had been buried as they had was hard to fathom. Surely there was a reason? What had Maureen left out of her brief eulogies? He resolved to find out.


	9. Double Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we observe the highlights of Aurella's time as a squire.

Not many in Brass Castle could claim to have served more than one knight-master. Aurella had served two. They had been decent enough in their way, or would have been had she been studying to become a chambermaid and not a knight. At least they hadn’t gotten pushy themselves.

Sir Griflet had been her first knight-master, a boy named Edgar had been her co-squire. Since all the knights at the time were male, it had been deemed inappropriate for a young woman to wait upon an adult man, and so several knight-masters found themselves with two squires instead of one. The life of a squire was far from glamorous. Indeed, it was closer to that of a personal servant or valet. Mostly it involved an awful lot of chores on top of a pre-existing mountain of work. Indeed, many squires complained of this for the first few months of their apprenticeship. Aurella, however, dared never open her mouth. Complaining would not lessen the load or make Edgar get off his lazy behind. No, it was best to preserve her silence.

Aurella did not see dawn until after she had lit the fire, warmed water for washing and set out linens for both Sir Griflet and Edgar. She would then have her one satisfaction of the day- shoving Edgar awake so that he could in turn waken Sir Griflet. She would dispose of their nightsoil and scrub the chamber pots while the two of them washed and dressed. Afterward, she and Edgar would see to sir Griflet’s horse. Edgar would at least deign to feed the beast and sometimes brush it. Aurella, however, was left with mucking the stall and spreading fresh straw.

The charger seen to, there would be an hour of practise. In the early days this involved pushing each other around, running, dodging, and getting used to getting beaten-up. This, at least, was something in which Aurella had plenty of experience. Almost as big as many of the boys, she perhaps took too great a delight in proving whom she could best. Edgar didn’t take well losing to a girl.

Sir Griflet was served his breakfast first. Edgar would bring it to him, and then clear away the dishes, though it would be Aurella stuck with washing them. Edgar usually took this opportunity to eat far more than his share of the porridge left for the squires. Happily, Sir Griflet’s charger didn’t mind sharing his breakfast of oats and fruit with his favorite of the two squires.

Lessons in both battle and tactics could be wearying, especially to one not used to so many letters. Aurella could write as well as read now, and while she was never at the top of the class, she made certain she was not at the bottom either. How Edgar could get away with sleeping behind his books, she could never fathom. Combat suited her better, but the boys kept growing and she soon found herself sinking among the shoulders of her peers. Too many of them took the advantage to throw their weight around quite literally.

Serving as a squire was not a brief process. Normally one could serve for as little as four years or as many as six, depending upon a number of factors including age, maturity, and skill. There was also the matter of the knight-master’s good graces. Sir Griflet was familiar enough with Edgar, but frequently seemed to forget she was there. Indeed, not long after being assigned to him, he ceased to speak to her completely, leaving Edgar to relay any messages or instructions. This led to extra chores generally reserved for the castle staff. On more than one occasion she found herself doing laundry and scrubbing floors. There was some comfort to be had in the knowledge that she was not the only one to experience such treatment.

Unsure how to treat a female soldier, the knight-masters had fallen back on older habits, and treated the young women assigned to them like maids. While the hard work and general inattention were not unfamiliar, there was something demeaning about being treated as a servant and not a knight-in-training. Still common, and now more obviously women despite their trousers and short hair, there wasn’t much to be done about it.

\--

“What do you think?”

Aurella looked up from mending a hole in Sir Griflet’s breeches. Edgar had taken the plate mail that usually hung upon a wooden dummy and put it on. At least, he had tried to. Without a second pair of hands, he had to hold the breastplate in place, the greaves riding low on his wrists.

“It’s three sizes too big,” she told him honestly and without rancor. “Put it back before you get us both in trouble.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport and help me,” he told her, trying to attach the shoulder pieces.

“Help yourself.”

“No, I mean help me get it off.”

“You got yourself into it, you can get yourself out.”

The clank and clatter of fumbling bits of armor drew her attention away from the clumsy seam. Edgar was indeed in need of a hand. He’d managed to get most of the apparatus buckled, but now his movement was limited. With a sigh, Aurella put down her mending and went to rescue him.

“Idiot,” she remarked, pulling at the various buckles and catches. “Hold still.”

For once he listened, standing patiently while she got him out of the various bits and pieces of shaped steel.

“Let’s see how it fits you!” he exclaimed, once free of it. Seizing the breastplate, he attempted to force her into it.

“Stop it!” she shouted, shoving him back. “Hang it up before you scratch it!”

“What’s the matter? Afraid it won’t fit, girl?”

Edgar’s joking had suddenly acquired a cruel edge. Letting the curias fall to the floor, he shoved her again, the heels of his hands connecting roughly with her bosom. “Not cut to fit is it?”

“Stop it!” She cried, raising her arms and shoving him away. “Touch me again and you’ll regret it!”

“Will I?” he asked, sinking into a ready stance as if preparing to fight. Aurella responded in kind, preparing for a punch that never came. Instead he aimed lower, catching the seam of her jacket and yanking hard. Fabric tore where the buttons failed to give way, leaving her improvised jumps and blouse visible.

“What the hell?!” Out of pure reflex she brought up her knee, catching him between his legs. With a soprano squeak he doubled over, knees pinched together.

“Wench!” he shouted, once he’d recovered his breath. The tackling grab he made for her had been expected, and Aurella met him all biting nails and sharp teeth. Only the banging open of the outer door made them both freeze in place where they’d been grappling on the floor. Edgar recovered first, leaping to his feet and smoothing his hair. Aurella- her jacket damaged- turned her back and hurried to collect the scattered pieces of armor.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Sir Griflet asked, little more than bemused at the scene.

“The woman knocked the armor over,” Edgar supplied. “I was trying to help her.”

Grinding her teeth together, armor clutched to her ruined jacket, there was nothing she could say.

\--

Combat practise became harder after that. Edgar and everyone else apparently deciding as one that such exercises were the perfect excuse to try to grope the female troops whenever possible. Their underclothes began disappearing off the lines, only to surface again filthy and at the top of the flag pole. Blood from the butchery yard seemed to be the foulment of choice. It was also hardest to wash out.

None of the women trusted the castle with their wash anymore. It meant one more chore on top of an already endless list. However, it was a small price to pay for knowing one’s unmentionables were clean and safe. Although the laundresses could not be depended upon to protect female linen, they didn’t seem to mind any of the female cadets borrowing their wash tubs.

Sleeves rolled to her elbows and jacket laid carefully aside, Aurella hunched over her ersatz chemise, trying to get the last of the stains out. No one was likely to see the dingy spots where blood and dirt hadn’t completely faded, but clean white linen was one of the few things a commoner could take pride in, even if it was only by the labor of her own two hands.

Too numbed by the constancy of the petty torment, Aurella simply scrubbed, unable to summon the energy to be angry. There was nothing she could do about it. The only actions she could control were her own. She was resolved to behave like a lady for all she had no title and no name. Someone had to at least pretend to have manners around here.

“So that’s where they’d got to.”

It was Edgar’s voice. While the tone was conversational, she didn’t bother to look up. She wasn’t angry with him, not anymore, but she was not about to give him status as a fellow creature without having first received an apology.

“Those are the practise vests from the training yard,” he said, prodding her in the back. “You’ll have to give them back.”

The quilted vests weren’t used by many. Only the most junior of soldiers wore ones so small as these. Indeed, the one she wore had been given freely, the garment so beaten and tattered that it would not stand much more abuse. Washed and mended, however, it worked well enough as jumps for a woman not permitted stays.

“I was given it freely,” Aurella told him calmly. “Leave me be.”

“A cadet will neither lie, nor cheat, nor steal!” he crowed, shoving her hard from behind. Unprepared, Aurella lost her balance and tumbled headlong into the greasy water. Before she could right herself, he had seized the tails of the vest and yanked hard, pulling them up and over her head as she scrambled for air. She landed with a thump on her behind, coughing and choking, eyes stinging from the lye soap.

“Edgar!” she spluttered, “Give it back!”

Waving the garment over his head like a flag, he laughed. “Come and get it!”

Dripping wet and shaking with more fury than cold, she stood, well aware that the sodden shirt hid nothing. Edgar’s widening grin stoked something hot and murderous in her belly. Slowly, she advanced to the other side of the wash tub, Edgar only retreating by a step as she drew even with him. Not pausing for thought, she stripped the soaking garment over her head.

“Is this what you wanted?” she demanded, deadly calm. There wasn’t much to look at, for all she was over eighteen. Nature had given her a modest bosom, combat practise many a healing bruise that dotted green and purple splotches on her fair skin. Red blossomed in his cheeks, spreading over his face and into his hairline. Suddenly he couldn’t look at her, his eyes darting to find focus anywhere but on the woman in front of him.

“LOOK AT ME!” she did her best not to shriek. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Despite the bulge in his trousers, he lowered his head, ashamed. Not waiting for further comment, Aurella snatched the vest from his lowered hands.

“That’s what I thought,” she spat, turning and seizing a garment at random from off the drying line before stalking away. No one stopped her.

\--

It had been a foolish gesture, done out of spite and anger, and now she must pay for it. Edgar had bragged to all who would listen that she had undressed in front of him. While the letter of the boast might be true, the spirit could not have been farther from reality. All she could do was pretend he did not exist, treat him like one of yapping little lap dogs that the fine ladies in town carried about in their arms. Noise and bother, that was all he was. To argue would be folly, to admit that the event had taken place, even worse. No one would listen to her anyway. Instead she held her head high, a queen suffering a mongrel whining for a bone. If Edgar wanted attention, he was _not_ going to get it from her.

\--

Sir Cador was aloof and dismissive. She had hoped her co-squire, Steven, would be an improvement over Edgar. If anything, he was worse. Steven had the unfortunate habit of cornering the serving maids at Brass Castle. Aurella was beginning to suspect there wasn’t an actual “maid” among any of them anymore. The new ones, the little scullery maids of perhaps fourteen or fifteen, were especially vulnerable. At twenty-one herself, Aurella understood the shy, squirming posture and the nervous smiles of the young servants. It made her angry that the men would try to take advantage them. These sons of wealth and power, picking on their subordinates simply because the could not be refused. This, she decided, was going to stop.

So often did she visit the laundry and scullery, Aurella was surprised she hadn’t thought of this before. The elder servants, for all they were women too, were deeply suspicious of the female soldiers. The younger girls, however, were lonely and frightened, surrounded on every side by the military. It did not take them long to appreciate a “please” or a “thank you” from someone who technically out-ranked them. Their superiors, however, didn’t see it that way. None of the senior staff bothered to whisper or hide their disapproving looks when admonishing their charges to steer clear of “ _those_ women.” Still, she kept up her politeness campaign, hoping it would pay off eventually. It never hurt to be courteous.

\--

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

Steven paused in mid-sentence, his suave expression wrinkling in annoyance. “No one asked you, wench.”

It was his name for all women when he couldn’t be bothered to learn the ones their mother’s had given them- which was often- so she took no offense.

“She’s fourteen. Leave her be.”

The little scullery maid sandwiched uncomfortably between Steven and the wall looked up at her with wide eyes.

“What is that to me?” he scoffed.

“She’s a child,” Aurella continued, stepping over to intercede.

“Don’t insult her,” he said in tones of mock-offense. “She’s a grown woman.”

Aurella rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it. I’m getting sick and tired of watching you trying to lift the skirt of anything with legs and under thirty. It’s disgraceful.”

“You find my behaviour unbecoming?” he smirked. “Where did you learn your manners, wench? In the gutter?”

“At least I can recite the oath of honor,” she retorted, more bored than truly angry. Having successfully put herself between Steven and the maid, she waved the girl away. Obligingly, the maid fled. It took Steven a long moment to realize his quarry had vanished.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he whined. Aurella resisted the urge to cover her face with her hand. How this idiot survived in the corps this long she did not know.

“Look,” she said, facing him as if he were her equal- which by rights he should be. “I don’t care what you do with your wild oats, but have the decency not to pick on the little ones. What challenge is there in a child?”

“I’m told you put up quite a fight.” His smirk had soured to a leer. Aurella set her jaw and met his stare evenly.

“Stop bothering the children.”

“Or what?” he challenged. “You’ll tell the knight-master on me?” Steven snorted. “As if he’d care.”

It was true. He probably wouldn’t. But she couldn’t stand idly by and let him assault more young girls.

“I’m warning you,” she told him again, deadly calm in her voice. “Don’t let me catch you again.”

It turned out to be a poor choice of words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True to the spirit of Suikoden III, I have borrowed more names from the Round Table of King Arthur's court. Sir Griflet and Sir Cador are both lesser known knights in the Arthurian legend.


	10. First Ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, after some difficulty, Leo gets a bit of history concerning Brass Castle's first female recruits.

Looking for women with a single name to their credit among the endless shelves in the castle archives was a daunting prospect. Even knowing the year they had enlisted did not help much. Their names were present in the cadet census, but almost nowhere else. Of the more recent female soldiers there were records aplenty, but about ten years back, the documentation began to peter out. Individual names vanished into plurals and then disappeared entirely. When they were mentioned, they appeared as a group, described only as “the women” or “the females”. The only half-way decent volume was a strangely linear little book that described the exploits of the first few groups of women _en mass_. Clearly copied from older material, Leo did his best to track down the original source but found nothing.

Barricaded behind a mound of books and papers, Leo barely noticed as someone sat down at the far end of the long reading table. Chancing a brief glance up from his fruitless research, he blinked and looked again. A stout old woman with a patch over one eye and a rather ridiculous set of shiny black braids trailing down over her shoulders had made herself comfortable. Here in the castle archives she looked horribly out of place, as if she’d wandered too far from her seat near the fire at her favorite pub. She too had a stack of books, albeit significantly smaller than his own. Not only that, the books appeared to be in dreadful condition. The largest one at the bottom of the stack bore unmistakable scorch marks.

“Lord Gallen,” she greeted him.

“Madam,” he nodded politely. Flipping one braid back over her shoulder, she adjusted the woolly cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Beneath it peeked the rust-colored cloth of a Zexen army uniform. One of the Lady Guard.

“My pardon, Dame….”

“Danielle ,” she supplied in a voice made of gravel. “The head librarian tells me you’ve been tearing the archives apart.”

“I have,” he nodded. “Dame Henrietta has set me a on a quest, but I’m having a difficult time finding a map.”

“You look in the wrong places, Lord Gallen.” Silently, she slid the short stack of books toward him.

“What are these?” he asked, paging through the first and smallest notebook.

“A map,” was her cryptic response. “Begin at the beginning, at the bottom.”

Obediently, Leo set the smaller volumes aside and opened the larger one. He recognized the simple binding; a cadet roster for all the new recruits to enter service in the same year. This one, however, bore heavy charring along its pages and cover. Opening it proved that entire sections had been reduced to charcoal, and that most of the ruined pages were empty. Only about half the pages were full. Full, he realized, of entirely female names.

“This is a listing of the original Lady Guard,” he murmured, carefully turning the flaking page. “Along with seven or eight subsequent cohorts.”

Dame Danielle nodded.

“What happened to it?”

“Documents are regularly burned at Brass Castle, those deemed either too trivial or too dangerous to remain on the shelves.”

“Which were you?” he dared to ask. Dame Danielle gave him a gap-toothed smile. Leo couldn’t help returning it.

The next three books proved to be rather haphazard accounts of the women’s military careers. These, at least, bore no damage, but apparently had only been updated in fits and starts. Written in a dozen different hands and styles, it was difficult to decipher what little information the pages contained. None of them had been signed. With a sigh, Leo resigned himself to another night of digging through the archives for the names of the men who had been commanding officers of the first few women in ranks.

The last little book, no larger than one of his notebooks, read almost like a diary. The entries were chronicled by name and date of enlistment, with lists of battles, merits, wounds, and, in a few cases, deaths. The hands varied here as well, but the level of detail was astonishing compared to the scattered, careless remarks in the official records.

“I don’t understand,” he confessed.

“Nor would you. You are a noble’s son, born to privilege. Yes, you earned your place in the world, and I do not begrudge you your station, but you had a leg up early on that the rest of us could never hope for.”

“That does not explain why the female records are nowhere to be found in the archives,” he insisted. Danielle shrugged.

“As I said, these were documents too trivial to take up space. It was widely assumed that all of us would be gone before long, either drummed or driven out if we didn’t first get ourselves killed. We had to make sure out existence was documented, and as you can see, if left to the castle clerks, we might have no record at all.”

“There are records of women at the castle, but none of them go back farther than fifteen years.”

The yellowed grin returned. “Why do you think that is, Lord Gallen?”

“...you were finally knighted then,” he said slowly, realization dawning. “You began to be put into positions of relative power.”

She nodded, approving. “Very good.”

“Dame Danielle, may I borrow these?”

The jovial smile vanished from her leathery face at once. No more the beaming inn keeper’s wife, she had suddenly turned to steely-eyed street tough.

“That you may not,” she said sharply. Upon witnessing his dismay, however, her expression softened. “I removed them from the library only with special permission.”

Leo blinked. They were already in the library. There was no other that he was aware of. And then it hit him.

“Where is this library?”

The bulldog smiled returned. “Come with me, Milord.”

\--

Once he considered it, the location of the second library hinted at by Dame Danielle should have been obvious. The castle infirmary housed a good-sized clerical office, the better to keep track of injuries, illness, and other medical records. Dame Elizabeth was not chief physician, nor even head nurse, but instead functioned ostensibly as a sort of secretary to the male doctors. Her office was tiny, all but one wall crammed with books and folios.

“Lord Gallen,” she rose and nodded to him in salute. “I thought you might pay us a visit.”

“Dame Danielle was kind enough to refer me,” he told her, offering the stack of damaged books. Taking them from his huge hands, she lost no time in returning them to their rightful place on the shelf nearest her desk.

These were not the official records, not by anyone’s tally, but they were no doubt much closer to the truth. There were more salvaged tomes here, many in better shape than the one Dame Danielle had shown him. None of them, he noticed, dealt with classes later than ten years after that of the Lady Guard. There was no need, he surmised, to keep extra records after that. By that time the Lady Guard had been made officers, women in the army had become an accepted fact. Evidently, the castle scribes had adjusted accordingly.

“I recognize these records are too precious to be far removed from your library,” he began. “I therefore ask if I might come here to review them, if such a thing would be convenient?”

Dame Elizabeth looked positively amused at his politeness. “Do as you please, Lieutenant General.”

\--

It was harder- given his schedule and the never ending mountain of forms and files waiting in the salon- to find time to visit the infirmary. As Lieutenant General he hardly needed an excuse to visit. Others might talk, but no one save the others of the high command would ever question it. That being the case, stolen hours here and there found him wedged into a corner, carefully committing the Lady Guard’s records to memory.

He had been a child wearing holes in the knees of his breeches when Aurella and her sisters had first shocked the nation with their audacious request: to serve in the Zexen military alongside the noble and tradesmen’s sons. Now such a thing would hardly cause such a stir. Paging through the records, the outrage it had triggered in everyone from nobleman to tavern wench came as a bit of a shock. As a boy, he had not understood the significance of the only distantly remembered fuss. There had always been both commoners and women in the Zexen military, but generally in non-combative support positions. To be fair, knighthood had been a comparatively recent invention in the equally young Zexen federation. No noble daughters had shown an interest at the time, only a pack of low-class teenagers hoping to improve their lot. Who could blame them? Several men had already risen to the title of “Sir” with a surname to accompany it. Lands and the hand of a lady had even been earned by a lucky few. It only made sense that the female foot soldiers would desire a similar chance to better themselves.

All twenty-six of the young common women had been admitted to the corps of cadets on the grounds that no one could find a legitimate reason to turn them away. No more than eight years old at the time, he had never give much thought to the matter, being more concerned with childish things. It would be another eight years before Leo would join ranks himself. By that time, the first group of lowborn girls should have completed their training as squires and moved on into positions in the regular army. However, as Aurella had mentioned, such had not been the case. A number of ridiculous concerns and complications had prolonged the process. By his reckoning, Aurella and her sisters should have been knighted the same year he enlisted. Instead, their knighting ceremony had preceded his own by only one year. 

Perhaps because the official records were so spotty, none of the women had risen past the rank of Sergeant-Captain. Admittedly, it was a long tour that usually required some sort of merit or act of valor in order to ascend to Sergeant Major and then Lieutenant. Now that he thought about it, only Percival and perhaps one or two others- also men- had risen to command positions without the benefit of wealth and family to recommend them. It was a discouraging thought.


	11. Fresh Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo learns a bit more about females in ranks, and he and Salome hash out the details.

“Good morning,” the knight’s brassy voice rang off the stonework of the courtyard like the echo of a trumpet. Her tone implied that the morning would be anything but. “I am Sergeant Captain Aurella. You will call me ‘Dame Aurella’ or ‘Ma’am’. We will be getting to know one another quite well.”

There were just under fifty new recruits standing before her, most not yet grown into their adult height. Splotchy faces stared nervously back at her, gawky limbs held inexpertly at parade rest. More than one had already slumped into a careless slouch. She’d address that later.

“I will be overseeing your training here at Brass Castle,” she continued, “so we will be seeing a great deal of each other. I have a reputation for being a task-master and a Tartar. I assure I come by said reputation honestly. I do not suffer fools or sluggards. If you are not prepared to work hard and take a few knocks, the door is immediately behind you.”

One or two were already re-thinking their decision, but no one actually turned to look. A good sign.

“Soldiers,” she used the term intentionally. These female recruits were not ladies, many of them never would be. Not many could truly be considered “women” either. Besides, in entering the military they had made a choice- whether they realized it or not- to leave their femininity behind.

“I would like to say a few words about the standard of dress at Brass Castle. While none of you has had her gown burned, I can assure you there will be little use from here on out for civilian clothing. You will wear a uniform at all times, even when not on duty. So long as you dwell in Brass Castle, you will wear the colors of the Zexen federation. You are expected to keep your uniform in good condition, and your appearance neat and proper at all times. That does not, however, extend to your vanity.”

She took a moment to let that sink in.

“Your hair will be worn off the collar; either pinned up, pulled back, or cut off. Bows are prohibited, as are any other ornaments. Earrings are permitted so long as they are either studs, or hoops too small to fit a finger through. All other jewelry is out of the question. Makeup is prohibited as well.” Not that she truly needed to warn the bulk of the young women present. Most of them bore the tanned and freckled complexions of those used to working out of doors. Perhaps five girls exchanged rather dismayed glances. One girl hastily snatched the ribbon from the end of her plait and shoved it in her pocket. Inwardly, Aurella smiled.

“You are soldiers, sworn to the service of your country. Your beauty is in your strength. A spotless reputation and a sterling record should be your only concern. Honor as a soldier of Zexen is more valuable than rosy cheeks or curls. Frummery is foolishness to a soldier. No one will be looking at you that way.”

She watched as the looks of dismay turned to ones of puzzlement.

“You are soldiers,” Aurella repeated. “Foot soldiers. Commoners. We do not have the luxury of status. The only way to advance is by your own merits; the labor of your hands and the sweat of your brow. Admirers are a danger. Anyone who judges you by your looks, by your woman’s body, does not judge you as a fellow soldier and an equal. Be assured you _will_ be judged.”

She was frightening them, but it had to be said. Best that they know the truth, best to get it overwith.

“To be judged as a woman is to be judged as an object that does not belong. You are not women, you are a soldiers. In becoming a soldier, you are abandoning your role as a woman and everything that goes with it: beaus, husbands, and children. The whims of the heart can be fatal; be assured that any indiscretions will lead to _your_ downfall and not that of your beau. There will be no second chances.”

They were truly scared now, even the most cocksure street sparrow reconsidering the oath she had just taken as a new recruit and footsoldier. A path of hard work and hard judgement lay ahead of them. It would not be so hard as the one she had forged, Aurella herself would make sure of that, but it would still be far from easy.

“That being said,” she continued, “I want you to know that I am here to help you. We all are. If ever you have questions, or need advice, you have only to ask us. We will not turn you away.”

They had relaxed somewhat, but informality was not something that could continue between teacher and student, commander and subordinate. Raising her voice again, she launched briskly into the next set of instructions.

“Now then. There are three responses you may give when addressed by a senior officer: “Yes, Ma’am”, “No, Ma’am”, “Ma’am, I do not understand...”

Aurella’s voice flattened slightly into that of one reciting lines by rote. This was a more familiar, and far less crucial speech. Leo shifted back from the arcade that overlooked the practise yard, feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach. At his elbow, Felicia seemed curiously nonplussed. Then again, she had more than likely heard this speech before.

“Does she give this address to all the new recruits?” he asked. Looking up at him, the girl nodded.

“Yes, Milord. Well, she gives it to all of us- the common girls, that is. Those of higher rank are usually instructed by their mentors while this is going on.”

“Mentors?” he echoed.

“Sort of like a knight master, only they don’t treat their protegees as squires- at least not right away. I’m given to understand that Lord Galahad was Lady Chris’s mentor before he was her knight master.”

“I see,” Leo mused, the remark only now bearing any inkling of truth. It was strange how the privileges of rank acted as blinders, shielding those with wealth and power from the harsher reality faced by those without. He couldn’t help feeling angry at himself for being so blind, so oblivious. It felt as if he’d been wandering about the castle with a sack over his head for the last twenty years.

“Sir?”

Aurella’s squire was still looking up at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, Felicia. That is all. You may go.”

“Sir,” the girl said and saluted before hurrying off.

\--

“Struggling for a fourteenth line?”

Leo looked up from the sheaf of paper he’d been contemplating for the last half hour or so. He had very little to show for his work. Half a dozen lines had been jotted down only to be immediately scribbled out. He offered a brief smirk at his friend’s humor. Salome had caught him once before penning lines of poetry and, ever the trusted confidant, had never said a word about it to anyone. Sonnets were the classical vehicle for romantic declarations, but tonight’s efforts had been much more prosaic.

“Sort of,” he admitted, leaning back to stretch where he sat. “It’s come to my attention that there are a number of soldiers who are long past due for promotion. _Long_ past due.”

Salome cocked his head as he set his satchel and a stack of ledges on the tea table. “A number?” he echoed. “How many? And how long?”

“Nine. They’ve been stuck at Sergeant Captain for over a dozen years.”

Salome blinked and jerked upright. “That can’t be right. How could they have stayed at the same level of rank for more than five or six years? After that they would have had to be either promoted or discharged.”

“They’re all women. Common women.”

The weight of the silence grew so heavy that Salome was forced to sink down onto the sofa opposing his friend. “I still don’t understand,” he insisted, “surely there must be a record.”

Leo shook his head. “That’s just it. There isn’t one- not enough of one to speak of, anyway.” With a sigh, he leaned forward to rub his face with both hands. “We’ve failed them Salome, as knights and as a nation we’ve failed them.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Salome assured him, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Leo’s greatest strength and most crippling weakness was his sense of honor and loyalty. He was an inherently noble soul, and his honest nature forbade him to perceive others as less trustworthy than he was himself.

“Perhaps not,” Leo conceded, “but I swore I would right this wrong.”

“It’s no difficult thing to have a soldier promoted.”

Leo’s derisive snort was surprisingly bitter. “You would think that. Do you know I’ve filed three commendations so far and none of them have been processed?”

“What?”

“Evidently there is a dungeon reserved for certain forms,” he grumbled, forcing a chuckle from Salome, despite his horror at such a thought.

“Why on earth wouldn’t the forms be processed? You’re one of the High Command, after all.”

At once the color drained from Leo’s face. “Dear Goddess, I know why,” he rasped. “What a fool I am!”

“Calm down, what are you on about?”

“The commendations I filed were for Dame Aurella.”

“Well, naturally, she’s under your-- oh.”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“A member of the High Command and yet the greatest fool in the castle,” Leo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hadn’t thought it was that obvious. I suppose the one highlight is that at least one clerk is following regulations.”

“It isn’t obvious at all,” Salome told him frankly. “You have every right to converse with your subordinates. You’ve broken no rules. However, I take your point. It does make things rather awkward.”

Leo sighed again, sliding his fingers from nose to brow, the better to massage his aching head. “I suppose the obvious thing is to transfer her to another command while she’s still low enough in rank. Once she’s promoted it will be more difficult.”

“Put her under Percival,” Salome suggested. “You can trust him to treat her with respect and to see that your commendations are carried out.”

“Yes,” Leo nodded, straightening again. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”

It was a less animated response than Salome had anticipated. Although his military posture had returned, Leo’s spirits remained decidedly wilted.

“Only…?” Salome prompted. Leo sighed and gave him a strangely helpless look.

“Only it won’t solve anything, not in the long run.”

Although he had a guess, he wanted to hear it from Leo’s mouth, and so he asked; “How so?”

“I cannot prove Aurella’s merits or acts of valor without the documentation to support it. Neither she nor any of her sisters have more than a shadow of a service record and barely that. I have talked to the troops, to their commanding officers, and I know what battles they fought in, how they conducted themselves, and the number of years they’ve served. Salome, these women deserve to be Sergeant Major if not Second Lieutenant. Considering their combined combat tours, they have collectively earned perhaps a hundred medals, and not just participation ribbons. If what I have been told is true- and I believe it is- there are Bronze Shields to be awarded for bravery, Golden Harts and Silver Hinds for valor. There may even be a Federation Star to bestow, and that’s just the living women. A third of them are dead, and I cannot do anything for any of them. I’m not sure I can even give them proper headstones.”

“Spoken testimony may stand in place of written, if it is verified by an eyewitness,” Salome quoted. “I believe we could arrange for a commendation hearing.”

Leo visibly perked up at this.

“Their testimony could be transcribed and then we would have a written record of their service, even if it is after the fact.”

A warm smile briefly softened the hard lines of Leo’s face. “This is why you manage the tactics and not me.”

Salome couldn’t help laughing at that. “We each have our strengths,” he replied modestly.

Leo nodded, the smile evaporating to be replaced by the same grim expression he’d worn all evening.

“Still not enough?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said with a shake of his head. “...am I being selfish?”

“Selfish?” Salome repeated, feeling lost.

“Perhaps it is the nature of man to desire what he cannot have.”

Leo didn’t wax poetic often, unless it were to quote an especially appropriate- and often witty- line at Borus or Percival. On the verge of scolding his friend for such melodrama, he stopped short when he saw the forlorn look in the other man’s eyes.

“Transferring Dame Aurella to Percival’s unit would remove her from your direct chain of command,” he said slowly, voicing the thoughts as they formed, “but the gap in rank would still be too large. Even at Second Lieutenant, she would not be an equal. You would be violating regulation.”

“And her honor.”

“Leo, I hardly think--”

“No!” Leo’s voice boomed off the bare stone walls, echoing angrily around the furniture and up the fireplace. “I may not be enticing her to bed, but it’s no different. I would be asking her to indulge my own selfish desires. She would be risking not simply her personal honor, but her reputation, indeed her career as a knight of Zexen. I cannot and will not ask that of anyone, least of all her.”

“You’re in love with her.” The words were rather blank, as was his expression. Leo, however, nodded gravely.

“Yes.”

“You intend to marry her, then?”

“I do.”

It took a long moment for the reply to filter through Salome’s whirling thoughts. Once it did, however, the humor of it tickled him and he smiled.

“Well, it’s about time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fraternization is strongly frowned upon in the modern army. Soldiers of unequal rank are not supposed to be romantically involved for a variety of reasons. It is an offense that can get the involved parties dishonorably discharged, costing them their careers as well as their pensions. Depending on the commanding officer, so long as a couple doesn't flout the breech of regulations, those in charge sometimes choose to look the other way. Many today feel such regulations are antiquated and that it should either be amended or banned entirely. At present, however, it still stands.


	12. Commendation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which merit, medals, and mediation are discussed.

“And this has been going on _how_ long?” Lady Chris asked again, gaping at the finds and notations Leo had already made in his notebook. The chart of events and soldiers had long since outgrown its pages and now filled a lengthy roll of parchment that lay spread out on the tea table.

“At least as long as Dame Aurella’s been here,” Leo replied. “You can see the high command had been following the letter of the law, not the spirit, thereby eliminating common women from most of the privileges of office.”

She frowned. “But none of this has affected any of the female soldiers at Brass Castle for at least a decade. It certainly hasn’t affected me.”

Shaking his head, Leo pointed at a line on the chart. “Look here. This was the year Dame Aurella and her contemporaries were knighted. I was actually knighted the following year. It wasn’t until they were put in charge of subordinates that things began to change. There’s an enormous spike in reports of unbecoming conduct: fights, harassment, and subsequent punishment. I think the Lady Guard was trying to put a stop to the foolishness they’d had to put up with.”

Chris nodded, paging through the notebook, scanning each line carefully. “And it wasn’t until you and Aurella fell in love that you were able to finally bring this discrimination to light.”

Leo nodded, a bashful expression briefly coloring his face. Clearing his throat, he went on. “Dame Aurella is no longer part of my company, but she isn’t of equal rank. According to these standards, I cannot court an officer above or beneath my own rank without breaking the fraternization law.”

“The way it’s worded, it was most likely put in place to protect Aurella and the other young women,” Chris observed.

“I agree, but that’s not how it’s been used.”

“Quite,” the Captain General agreed, “she’ll need to be promoted to put her on equal footing- not for personal reasons, of course. By this timetable they should all have been promoted to Sergeant General if not Second Lieutenant over a decade ago.” Lowering the pages, she turned to her Lieutenant General, her face a picture of perplexity. “How is it that no one noticed this?”

“For all her bluster, I’ve never known Dame Aurella to complain,” Leo shrugged. “I believe she was worried that if she spoke up, she’d be punished. So far, I’ve found nothing to suggest that her fears were unfounded.”

“Well, I’ll certainly be glad to help you with this. It won’t be difficult to promote nine soldiers to the appropriate rank. Have you assembled their files?”

Leo cringed slightly. “In a manner of speaking,” he hedged. “No one, it seemed, thought the Lady Guard would be serving for very long. Their service records are spotty at best. However, Lord Salome has assembled a pool of witnesses to testify on their behalf concerning their conduct and character while in service.”

“Alright,” Lady Chris nodded in approval. “I’ll add that to this year’s hearing concerning medals and conduct awards.”

Leo bowed rather than simply salute; when he rose there was a smile on his face. “Thank you, Milady.”

\--

Why was she always the last to know things? Chris nursed her anger and indignation as she rode out to the Victor’s Garden. Leo had mentioned something about roses and headstones and female knights given a burial that would have been considered humble for a fishwife. Although she had never known Leo to lie, or even to embellish the truth, for some reason she had not expected this. Had he not told her of the rose bushes, she likely would never have found the overlooked graves with their plain slate markers. While it was true that every Zexen soldier had a headstone, not all of them had their names upon them. Battles that had yielded large casualties often had rows of markers, all of them blank because of either time constraints, or an inability to identify the remains. Such could not have been the case with every woman.

The Battle of Long Grass could certainly be forgiven. An entire corner of the cemetery had been devoted to the almost four-day-long battle and the resulting carnage. A similar case could be made for the section devoted to those fallen in the Battle of Shallow Water. Two of the deceased women, however, had been especially singled out. They had not died in battle, and had been intentionally laid to rest at the farthest edge of the land designated for Zexen soldiers. The fact that the headstone of the dead mother- Emma- had been broken in two seemed especially pitiable. If her grave made the Captain General sad, the resting place of the giantess Hazel made her furious. Not knowing whether to sob or seethe, she rode back to the castle in stony silence. Percival found her hours later in the salon, surrounded by a vast swamp of paperwork and her head in her hands.

“Captain?” he asked her cautiously? “Are you alright?”

“I’m not hurt,” she told him with a frustrated sigh, “but I’m far from alright.”

Percival stepped closer, noting the heap of charts and papers piled on the tea table.

“Did you know?” Chris asked him, lifting her head from her hands to look up.

“About what, Captain?” he asked, the question delivered with entirely too much calm sincerity.

“About the common women, the first group of female knights to join the cadre. Soldiers who have been nearly thirty years active duty and have barely risen above Sergeant Captain.”

Percival was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said at last, “I knew.”

“Then why did you not say anything?” she demanded, aghast.

He shrugged, the gesture strangely helpless. “What was I to say? It’s an open secret. Everyone knows. It’s hard for common men to rise through the ranks, harder still for common women. No one complains because that is the way it is.”

“ _I_ didn’t know,” Chris groused, “and I certainly would have appreciated the knowledge.”

“I’m sorry, Milady,” Percival told her, bowing in apology. Chris scowled.

“I would have thought you of all people would look out for your fellow soldiers.”

“I have,” he retorted, sounding hurt, “and I shall continue to see to the welfare of my troops and fellow officers. I kept my mouth shut because I made a promise.”

“A promise?” Chris blinked. “A promise to who?”

“Dame Aurella.”

Had Chris not already been sitting she would have dropped heavily onto the settee.

“She helped me climb the ranks, gave me the opportunity I needed though I could not return the favor. She told me only to think kindly of the other common soldiers, and not to forget from where I came. She asked me not to credit her or to remember her in any way because she did not want her reputation to damage mine.”

Chris blinked. “Has she a reputation?”

“Several,” Percival replied dryly. “I’m afraid there are a dozen or so wild rumors circulating concerning her good character, all of which are old and none of which are true.”

“But why should that be?” she asked, confused. “What has she or any of the other female knights done to deserve such conjecture?”

Percival shrugged and shook his head. “They were the first, and they are common. Had not the Zexen military opened its doors to them, they likely would have had to become maids, laundresses, or charwomen, and that’s if they were lucky. A low born man may improve his station through hard work, but the best way for a woman to better herself is still by marrying well.”

For a long moment they simply looked at each other; Percival down at his captain, Chris up at her subordinate, and it struck her suddenly as strange. The knowledge of his humble roots had always been there, a footnote on the mental record she kept of him in her head. What that had meant to him personally, she hadn’t really stopped to consider and had never thought to ask. To inquire now seemed both rude and ignorant. Percival, however, apparently had more to say. Having not been invited to sit, he relaxed into parade rest and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what it’s like to grow up poor and untitled in the city,” he began somewhat awkwardly. “But I do know what it’s like to be the only one in the room who hasn’t got an officer or a council member for a father. Captain…” he paused, shifted awkwardly, an uncomfortable look on his face. “I do not wish to offend you but…”

“Not only do I come from a family of privilege, I had Sir Wyatt Lightfellow for a father and Lord Galahad for a mentor and knight master. I got in fights, I was teased, but I could not have been more sheltered from what you and Dame Aurella went through if I tried,” she finished. A sardonic smile stretched his lips as he contemplated the floor.

“Well,” he said, finally turning the smile on her, the familiar impish twinkle returning to his eyes, “you said it, not me.”

“I’m sorry, Percival.” The apology fell out, almost automatic, as she realized how she must seem to him, how they all must seem. Percival, as expected, shook his head.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he assured her, gently refusing her words with one hand. “I’ve never had a reason not to give you my fullest respect, and for that I thank you.”

She nodded, accepting, still trying to process their conversation. After a moment, it occurred to her:

“How did Dame Aurella help you climb the ranks?”

Percival’s sardonic smile softened, becoming almost fond. “Every man jack of my cadre wanted to serve in Lord Galahad’s unit once they were knighted. Their subsequent choices were all about the same: Lord Pelize, Lord Lancet, and Lord Myriam. Not necessarily in that order. She encouraged me to take a different tack and to apply for a commander who was just as high up on the chain of command, but not nearly as popular. That way, I’d be the first pick of a solid commander and not the last.”

“And who was that?”

The smile split into a grin. “Lord Gallen.”

\--

“We’re doing what?” Borus echoed once Chris had outlined their course of action. “ _Why?_ ”

Chris blinked, as did Leo. Salome went so far as to crease his brows in mild consternation. Roland pressed his lips together in silence. Percival could only stare.

“Borus,” Percival began, “the army in general and the knighthood in particular owes these women a debt.”

“How?” he asked, tone more of bewilderment than accusation. “They’ve done very well for themselves, considering they came from nothing. They’re all officers, albeit not very high on the chain of command. Most of them will be retiring soon. It’s twenty years too late to correct the problem. Why not just adjust their pensions, or award them some sort of additional retirement compensation and have done?”

“Borus...” Percival’s tone and expression conveyed hurt, as if his friend had been dictating his own worth.

“I’m not saying we should do nothing,” Borus went on, “but isn’t this overreaching a bit?”

“By my count it hardly seems enough,” Leo answered darkly.

“I’m not sure you should be counting at all,” Borus retorted. “You have a personal interest in this matter. Are you sure your opinion is unbiased?”

Leo opened his mouth, closed it, tried again, but failed. Instead he sat and fumed in silence, scarlet creeping up his collar and into his hairline, though from rage or embarrassment, no one was sure.

“It was Leo’s acquaintance with Dame Aurella that brought this matter to light,” Salome pointed out.

“And how do you know she isn’t trying to use his influence to further her own position?”

“That I will not stand for!” Leo burst out, jumping to his feet. “How dare--!”

“Enough!” Chris broke in, hurrying to stand between them as Borus got to his feet and Roland stepped forward to restrain Leo.

“I apologize,” Borus said, rather unexpectedly. “I meant no disrespect toward either you or the Sergeant-Captain, but that is the opinion that will likely prevail. You cannot tell me you are unaware of her reputation and that of her contemporaries.”

“Lies, all of it,” Leo said stoutly, allowing Roland to strong-arm him back onto the sofa.

“Undoubtedly.” The word was a bit too dry to be fully sincere. “But you must take into account what people are going to think; not just the gossips, but the rest of the command and the troops as well.”

“Borus, you were present at the hearing,” Salome spoke up. “You have at least one of these women somewhere under your command. Do you truly think they do not deserve recognition for their loyal service to Zexen?”

“Of course not.” He met the strategist’s level look calmly. “I am prepared to stand by our Captain no matter what she decides, but is it worth the chaos it will cause?”

For a long moment the salon was quiet, blanketed in the heavy silence of an unmade decision. At length, Chris looked around the room, taking the measure of her high command before speaking.

“I think it is,” she said decisively. “These women have been ignored long enough. It is time they receive the recognition they deserve.”

\--

“I’m sorry.”

Exiting the salon, Leo turned to face the younger knight. Borus’ expression bore no marks of insincerity. Nodding, Leo accepted the apology.

“So am I. I apologize for losing my temper.”

Borus smirked. “Yes, usually I’m the one to fly off the handle.”

“I hope you understand that I am not doing this for personal reasons.”

“Aren’t you?” the smaller man asked, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow. Leo blushed, but only fractionally.

“I have a personal stake in all of this, yes, but do not presume that is the only reason. These women have been wronged, Borus, and we owe them an apology.”

“Be that as it may, what on earth are you going to do? You can no more court the training mistress than I can the Captain.”

It was Leo’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “A curious statement.”

Borus shrugged. “There is only one step between the high command and the Captain. A two-storey staircase stretches between you and Dame Aurella. Even if she makes the leap from Sergeant-Captain to Second-Lieutenant, that will put you no closer. You’re still divided by rank and the Fraternization rule.”

“I know,” Leo rumbled, regret tinting his voice.

“Does she care for you?”

“I believe she does.”

“Would she not lay down arms to find happiness? Surely retiring to become Madame Gallen would be no great hardship.”

“Perhaps,” Leo began cautiously, “but I defer that decision to Dame Aurella. She has worked hard for all that she has. I would not ask her to sacrifice her career for the whims of one foolish man.”

Borus blinked at that. Leo went on.

“As you said, many of the Lady Guard are not far from retirement. Perhaps she will deign to wait, perhaps not. Either way, I will not do anything to persuade her from what she wishes. A lady loves her will, and I want every decision she makes to be her own.”

Unable to form a reply, the younger man nodded. Leo returned the modest salute before heading down the hall. There was work yet to do before he retired for the night.

\--

“This will not be a popular gesture,” the warning echoed in her ears. “You are Zexen’s Silver Maiden, but throwing your lot in with two-dozen women who have long been the joke of the Zexen military will not go over well.” Salome looked at her, his gaze steady. Chris returned it.

“All the more reason to stand behind them.”

“I agree, but more people will disagree with your decision than support it.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she told him, nerves shivering briefly in the pit of her stomach. “You’ll stand behind me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “We all will. However, you’ll anger more than just the gossips this time. There are hundreds of mid-ranking officers who aren’t going to be happy about this. You’ll be turning the troops against you.”

Chris sighed and rubbed at her face. It had been over two months since the commendation hearing. Once the female knights’ records were notarized, the orders for medals and other badges of honor could be submitted to the local gold and silversmiths. There was also the matter of the granite headstones. There were any number of the gleaming white slabs ready and waiting in the masonry yard. Leo had told her that his original quest was to rescue these fallen women from anonymity. That meant proper headstones with names and their unit crest. Although the Lady Guard had not asked for more, it did not seem like enough.

“Trouble, Milady?”

Chris blinked and looked up to find Roland standing at her elbow. Generally the Elf voiced little more than a reply to a question. It was rare indeed for him to initiate a conversation.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, eyeing the heap of papers coating the tea table the way a sullen child might regard a plate of unwanted vegetables. “What do you make of this mess, Roland?”

The Elf suppressed a chuckle and shook his head. “It is not my place to say, Milady.”

“I’m asking your opinion,” she insisted. “You may give it freely.”

“Very well,” he nodded, amused. “I must confess that human sensibilities often confuse me. This debacle concerning the first female knights…”

“Go on,” Chris prompted. Roland shifted uncomfortably, contemplating the floor a moment before he spoke.

“The censure of their records and the subsequent diminishment of their persons I find to be both despicable and inexcusable.” The pronouncement was delivered not in his usual calm, clipped tone, but with surprising vehemence. Chris found herself drawing back from his cold anger.

“Elvish women are given the same regard as men,” he went on. “Further, our social structure is very different. Honor is our only social currency. These women, they fought with honor. They died warrior’s deaths, they deserve a warrior’s burial.”

Nodding, Chris considered his speech. It was foolish, all the fuss they were making. She’d faced gossip and imagined scandal before. If her decision was going to cause wagging tongues and dissention, it might as well be for a damn good reason.

“You’re right. Thank you, Roland.”

Putting a hand to his heart, he bowed. “As you wish, Milady.”

\--

“No further action can be taken until the commanding officers are reviewed,” Salome stated. “And I think that is a job for your High Command. Let them think you do not know about the neglected records. If they think this is no more than a standard performance review, they’ll be more likely to speak freely.”

Chris nodded, conceding the wisdom of his words. Although she would have liked to interview them herself, to do so would be to tip her hand.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Do it.”

There were risks to be sure- the greatest of which, of course, was Leo. Although the reason for his ransacking the castle archives was not widely known, it wouldn’t do to have anyone think his motives were purely selfish. With twice as many First-Lieutenants as members of the High Command, her immediate subordinates would each be interviewing two officers. It occurred to Chris that she had a uniquely diverse inner circle: a member of Zexen’s landed gentry, an old-money aristocrat, a shrewd tradesman’s son, an Elven marksman, and a farmer. These men who surrounded and supported her had largely been put there by the joint efforts of Lord Galahad and her father. It was a debt she could not begin to repay.

The other thing that struck her was the infernal politics regarding who would speak to whom. Leo and Salome would likely be the best choices for the most senior officers. Borus was a safe bet no matter who he spoke to, and so she kept him in mind, reserving his name for whoever was left over. Roland would be a fair and impartial judge, but she wasn’t sure how well his sometimes frosty demeanor would go over. Percival, though well-liked, would also be a challenge. Despite being one of Sir Galahad’s many protegees, there were still some among the senior officers who still saw him as a commoner. She supposed she’d find out.

\--

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” Percival grumbled. Leo nodded in agreement. “They seem to be split right down the middle. Half seem quite attached to their female soldiers, the others try to forget that they’re there.”

“I don’t understand,” Chris shook her head. “If they’ve found favor in the eyes of their commanding officers, why have they been ignored?”

“I can answer that,” Roland spoke up. At once, all eyes turned toward him. “The officers see these women not as soldiers, but as servants. They treat many of them like maids. They expect them to be at their beck and call with no recompense.”

“And they haven’t reported it for fear of losing their jobs,” Percival finished. “They couldn’t afford to call attention to themselves.”

Chris nodded. “I see. Is there anything in the way of documentation? Formation rosters? Time spent in the infirmary? Weapons and armor issuance?”

“We had to do some digging, but yes.” Salome laid a thick folio full of neatly stacked forms on the table. “One does have to read between the lines, but it is indeed possible to track the careers of the Lady Guard. All of them have seen combat, but few have received anything but negative criticism for their actions. However, Leo and myself and testify that this should not be the case. I believe Percival and Borus could bear witness to this as well.”

Blinking, Chris turned to look at the two younger knights. “Really?”

“We were still squires and not permitted our own weapons, but we did indeed see combat, if only from a distance,” Borus explained.

“It was plenty close enough for me,” Percival said with a shudder. “I was put to work in the infirmary.” He cringed a second time. “I may have a soldier’s stomach, but I haven’t a doctor’s.”

“Can’t stand the sight of blood?” Chris teased.

“Blood yes. Insides...not so much.”

“Oh…”

“It’s alright, milady. The point is, all of us, as well as many of the troops can attest that the Lady Guard aren’t the blight on the corps that they were once made out to be.”

“By my reckoning, some of them are heroes, deserving of medals and perhaps more.”

“Alright,” Chris nodded, “I believe you, but we need to get this all on paper. I want to speak with the Lady Guard myself, as well as their commanding officers.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, milady?” Percival asked. “We’re trying to reward them, not get them drummed out.”

“Yes,” Borus agreed. “Won’t this make things harder for them in the end? We can give them ribbons, and increase their wages, but will it really grant them more esteem?”

“That’s why I want to talk to them first,” Chris explained. “Or at least draft a formal letter of commendation for each of them. They aren’t going anywhere just yet. Not until they’ve had the chance to be properly decorated.”

Borus still looked doubtful. “This won’t be a popular decision, milady. I would not want to see this reflect badly upon you.”

“The only ill light is that of a dozen officers who haven’t done their job for the last twenty years,” Chris told him somewhat crossly. “As Captain-General it is my duty to set this right, public opinion be hanged.”

“Borus has a point, milady,” Salome added.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t honor these women?” she asked, surprised. Salome shook his head.

“Not at all, only I think a bit of theatrics may be in order.”

\--


	13. Laid to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a joint funeral.

The crowd gathered at the edge of the forest of the Victor’s Garden was not large, yet it was very distinguished. One might have thought a state funeral was taking place. However, the opposite was true. A dozen soldiers stood solemnly by while three more dug a trench in the grassy turf. Although there were groundskeepers aplenty to tend the resting place of Zexen’s fallen, little enough attention had been given to a certain class of soldiers. The Lady Guard had not been permitted to bury their sister the first time. Men could have been commissioned to open the grave, but the women had asked to do it themselves. As such, three scooped away earth while the rest watched and waited to trade places should any of the diggers tire. Nearby, stood what earlier would have been considered unusual company: the high command, Zexen’s Six Mighty Knights.

Lady Chris stood slightly in front of her officers, Salome and Leo just behind her with Borus, Roland, and Percival completing the informal triangle. Whether by accident or intent, Dame Aurella stood at the edge of the group of female knights, putting her within touching distance of Leo. All of them, knights and officers alike, stood solemnly at parade rest, watching as the grave grew slowly deeper. 

“Here she is.”

Regulation dictated that graves within the Victor’s Garden should be six feet deep, this one was just over three. At first it was difficult to discern the reason to stop digging, and then Borus spotted it: the smooth round dome of a skull peeking through the dark earth. Laying aside her spade, one of the diggers- Henrietta, he thought her name was- reached for brush and trowel, the better to expose the remains of the soldier.

“Not half as deep as it should be,” she muttered. “Can’t even be excused by conflict. She died during peacetime.”

“Keep working,” the second- Dame Blair, judging by her strangely pretty face- told her, crouching to scoop away earth with her hands. “We’ll put it to rights soon enough.” At the head of the grave, Dame Henrietta carefully dusted earth from the peaks and valleys of what had once been a handsome face.

The giantess Hazel must have been striking in life, with high cheekbones and a noble brow. Hairline cracks radiated out like the threads of a spider’s web from the base of one eye, bespeaking injury long since healed. Beneath the hands of her sisters, more of her body emerged from the soil. Although brown and discolored from moisture and minerals, her bones spoke of a height and strength greater than any of the other women in ranks. The scrape and scratch of brush and trowel was suddenly pierced by a shrill cry.

“Her _legs!_ ”

Leo was the first to the grave’s edge, Lady Chris at his elbow. Automatically, he threw out an arm to catch Dame Aurella as she rushed forward. As one they looked into the trench with a growing sense of horror.

Traditionally, a knight was buried on his back, sword in hand, and ankles crossed. Because she’d died before the female knights were awarded swords, Hazel’s folded hands were empty. After twenty years in the earth, little remained of the rotted wood of her coffin; only a few worm-eaten chunks and a narrow black line that hemmed her in like the lead of a glass window. Her long body too large for a standard issue coffin, rather than construct a new one, her legs had been cut off at the knee. True to tradition, her femurs had been crossed, and the severed limbs tucked in alongside.

Louis, busy collecting the cast off spades, blinked in perplexity. “I don’t understand. If she wasn’t in a coffin, why cut her legs off?”

“She was in a coffin, boy,” Dame Henrietta told him in a surprisingly soft voice. “Wood rots after only a few years. Dame Hazel’s been here more than twenty.”

Standing in the circle of Leo’s arms, Aurella had grown very white, though whether from grief or rage, Borus could not tell. Swallowing hard, she shook herself and turned to unroll the shroud that would be used to transport her friend’s bones.

The Lady Guard were nothing if not thorough, Madame Doctor making sure that every last knuckle was salvaged, carefully dusted clean, and placed in the bundle. Although her flesh was long since gone, fresh herbs were still wrapped among the yards of white linen. Properly laid out, Dame Hazel was nearly two feet longer than her truncated grave, practically eight feet. She would have easily been a head taller than Roland, but perhaps not so tall as her tribesman Hallec. Her sisters laid her diagonally on the canvass litter, Aurella bearing the head, Belinda the foot. Hoisting her bones, they followed the High Command toward another corner of the cemetery. Behind them, Dame Henrietta carefully lifted a white rose bush, its roots bound in sack cloth.

Dame Emma was not deeply buried either. Although she had not been dismembered, her interment seemed equally careless. Within the boundary of her decomposed coffin, she lay awkwardly on her side, as if thrown. Borus knew that superstition dictated a criminal be buried face down- sometimes with a stake through their heart, or their head cut off posthumously- in order to keep their spirit from wandering. The placement of the dead mother’s remains seemed wrong for either that of a fallen soldier or a convict.

“It isn’t fair,” Lady Chris’ voice, tinged with dismay, cut through the heavy silence. “Is dying such a death truly considered a sin so grievous that she must be laid to rest like a common criminal?”

Madam Doctor opened her mouth to speak, but the voice that answered was Percival’s.

“Not a criminal, Milady.” Turning to the physician crouched in the grave, he asked: “Was she from Iksay?”

Madam Doctor nodded. “She was, yes.”

Percival nodded. “I thought as much.”

All eyes had turned toward him and he blushed slightly at the sudden scrutiny. “An expectant woman doesn’t fit well in a coffin,” he explained. “She has to be laid in at a bit of an angle. In Iksay, if the child has died as well, it’s placed in her arms.”

Within the open grave, only one set of bones was visible, though the dead woman’s arms had been arranged as if cradling something close to her breast.

“Did the child live?” Percival asked. Madam Doctor shook her head.

“No, Sir. It did not survive. It was too small, too young; so young that there wasn’t any bone to it.”

Compared to Hazel’s thick bones, Emma seemed pitiably delicate and small. Laid out on her own winding sheet, she proved to be only a little shorter than Dame Aurella though perhaps not so broad. Like Hazel, no weapon had been placed with her. Perhaps such a thing was deemed by the female knights to be too precious to put in the ground? Dame Emma’s body fit more comfortably onto the second canvas stretcher. When Dame Colleen took up the front, Borus stepped forward and grasped the rear. She looked back at him and blinked in perplexity.

“If I may?” he asked. The older woman looked at him for a long moment and then nodded. Not to be outdone, Percival stooped and retrieved the pink rosebush.

Their new resting places lay open and waiting, on the outer edge of a plot designated for those who had not died in combat. The soldiers buried here were mostly old men, or the unlucky few who had died of illness or accident away from the battlefield. There would be no coffins this time, the wooden boxes wouldn’t be necessary. Bones didn’t stink or harbor pestilence. Dame Emma’s grave was part of the first row, with Dame Hazel’s much longer slot immediately behind it.

Carefully, Borus maneuvered the litter onto the ground and stepped back. Although he would have gladly assisted in lowering the shrouded bones into their graves, this was no job for a man. Working in teams, the Lady Guard lowered the litters inch by inch into the waiting earth. Retrieving the stretchers was a bit awkward, but they managed. At this juncture, a few words were usually said either by a chaplain or the unit commander. Lady Chris was the ranking officer present, and he turned and looked to her expectantly. However, she did not catch his inquiring glance. Instead, her focus was trained on the surviving Lady Guard who had formed a loose ring around the two open graves.

Borus jumped, every nerve suddenly tense and jangling, as an earsplitting cry smote his ears. Dame Belinda had thrown her head back to give what he’d initially thought to be a battle cry. The ulating wail was not for war, he realized with a shock, but keening. The shrill wail went on, stretching for several seconds, seeming to grow in volume until he realized that the other women had added their own cries. At first the noise was ear-splitting, dissonant, setting his teeth on edge. Roland visibly winced. Just when Borus thought he could bear it no more, the shrieking shifted, losing some of its shrillness and taking on a curiously harmonic tone.

As their keening died down, each woman used the last of her breath to tune her voice to the others. Soprano, alto, tenor, and even bass notes combined to form a single chord; like the opening strains of an orchestra. Slowly, their unison note died away into silence. A breath, and then…

Dame Belinda opened her mouth a second time, not to shriek, but to sing. It took him a moment to identify the language as well as the tune. It had no name that he was aware of, but the melody was said to be as old as the earth itself. What the words truly were, he had no idea. The lyrics had always sounded like gibberish to him, being some arcane dialect of an ancient tongue. This was not the first time he’d heard it at a graveside, or from the throats of soldiers. Each of the women apparently knew their parts by heart, their voices rising and falling, harmonizing with the others without missing a single note.

He had never known Dame Hazel or Dame Emma. It was not his place to share in their grief, yet Borus could not help the sudden tightness in his throat, the stinging in his eyes. Despite this, he caught himself humming softly with the women, matching his pitch to those carrying the tenor line. Beside him, he caught Percival murmuring the song to himself as well, his own voice just a shade or two lower than his own. So deep were rumbled notes of Leo’s voice that he almost didn’t catch them. Once noticed, however, the deep bass rolled and rattled in his chest as well as his ears, more feeling than sound. Just behind him, Roland seemed to be chanting in Elvish, his voice several steps above Leo’s, but well below Percival and himself. Also somewhere in the middle was a steady hum coming from behind Salome’s closed lips. Borus blinked, having never heard the strategist use his voice for anything but lectures and the giving of orders. It came as something of a surprise, although perhaps it shouldn’t have, to realize that his orator’s voice lent itself well to music. Borus had been a squire when Lady Chris had begun and ended her brief career in the St. Loa choir. According to the choir master, she could not carry a tune in a bucket. Although she’d begun as only mouthing the unintelligible words, he turned his head toward her as her voice came through. It wasn’t sweet per se, yet not exactly sour either. Perhaps it was because she thought no one was listening to her, or because the moment did not call for the type of vocal polish expected inside the chapel. Eyes welling up, she gamely followed those leading the lower soprano line, only faltering here and there as she struggled against her tears. She wasn’t the only one.

Borus dipped his head briefly to swipe at his own eyes. Around him, the others were likewise doing their best to hold their grief. They might not have known these women personally, but the were still knights of Zexen, still one of them. It should hurt, he felt, to bury a person. Yet as he watched the Lady Guard stand chanting around their fallen sisters, every eye was dry. A few had their eyes closed, some stared at the ground, others the sky, but every expression was the same: empty. No feeling, no emotion. Neither joy, nor sorrow, nor relief painted their weathered features. Like statues they stood, stiff as stone and just as cold, only their music giving any hint as to what might be going on inside their hearts.

As suddenly as it had begun, the music stopped, leaving only the silent noises of wind and distant birdsong. Without saying a word, he took a shovel from Louis, who stood gaping but with his mouth shut tight. After a moment, Percival stepped forward and took the other. Together, they began filling in the graves. Replacing the disrupted earth was a lot easier than digging it out, but it still took time, and Borus was hot and sweaty by the time he’d traded off with Roland. He and Leo would finish filling in Dame Hazel’s grave while Lady Chris and Salome piled the remaining earth over Dame Emma.

Borus had been to a number of funerals in his time, but few had been so...hands-on. Ordinarily he would have stood around in his dress uniform feeling sad and uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do. This was better, he decided. Having a job to do made the whole affair so much less awkward. Also, no one had cried, which was a blessed relief, but also rather strange.

“They’re a tough lot,” he remarked to Percival as they trailed the Lady Guard in a quiet procession back toward Brass Castle. “Not a tear shed among them.”

“Oh there will be tears aplenty,” Percival countered, “but they’ll do their mourning on their own time.”

Borus blinked. “Why would they do that?”

“They’re soldiers first, women second,” Percival shrugged. “When they’re women at all, that is. They’re also commanding officers. Can’t let the troops see that they’re human, now can they?”

It was true. Although a hot temper was forgiven, as was a passion for battle, mourning did not truly befit a soldier. As part of the High Command, Borus could not risk anyone perceiving metaphorical cracks in his armor. Tears and the like were indeed meant to be shed in private. It seemed unjust somehow, that these women could not properly mourn their sisters. There would be no period of mourning, no months of wearing black bands on their arms, no nothing. Life for them must go on as it had been whether they liked it or not. Still, there would be some closure. Lady Chris had seen to that.


	14. Remembrance Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tactical error is made.

Remembrance Day was a time to honor the fallen, to remember the courage and valor of those who had given their lives to their country, regardless of whether they had done so under victory or defeat. It was also a time to honor the living, to thank and congratulate those who remained to keep the lands and people safe. Wreaths would be laid, hands would be shook, and much tearful gratitude offered. Salome Harras hated every blessed minute of it. He didn’t mind laying wreaths on the tombstones, or standing salute as the bugler played the mournful sunset call. Although he had laid his own mementos on the marble tombs of his mentors- Galahad, Lanchet, Pelize, Mirim, and even Lord Wyatt- it only served to remind him of his own failure. It was foolishness, he knew, to try to shoulder all the blame for the death of four seasoned veterans, but he couldn’t help the guilty twist in his stomach whenever he thought about it. He’d lost Lord Wyatt in battle not once, but twice, thereby causing his Captain the double grief of finding her father only to lose him again. Galahad had been mentor and father figure to more than just himself. He had been instrumental in appointing every member of the High Command. He had died as he had lived, protecting his men, with Lanchet at his side. Though their last battle had been a miserable campaign from beginning to end, Lanchet and Pelize had likewise met their fate nobly, with swords in hand. Such a fate, however, was not to befall a certain nine commanding officers.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked his Captain as she sat adding her signature very deliberately to the bottom of several forms.

“Yes,” she replied without looking up. “This has gone on long enough. Those who were ignorant should have known better, and those that did have no excuse. Willfully withholding accolades and promotion from a soldier purely because of gender or class is a violation of regulations as well as the honor of the Zexen knights. Will not stand for it any longer.”

“I agree,” he nodded, sinking down onto the sofa to sit next to her. “I can’t help being concerned. This isn’t going to look quite right to the rest of the corps, not to mention the Zexen citizens.”

“I don’t care,” Chris told him with a note of flippance. “I am Captain-General. If I can’t clean house and appoint people I trust to positions of command, then what earthly good is being head of the federation army?”

Salome smiled and suppressed a chuckle. “Again, I don’t disagree. However, this is going to cost you some popularity. I don’t like to hear people speak badly of my commanding officer.”

“People will speak regardless. Indeed, I’ll be glad if they’d leave off all this ‘Silver Maiden’ nonsense.”

“It isn’t that, milady,” he tried to explain. “I afraid this may put a bit of a dent in your reputation. Are you quite sure you’re ready to face such public ridicule?”

“Salome, enough,” she said sharply, turning to face him at last. “You know I don’t give a hang about politics.”

“You should,” he couldn’t quite keep all the annoyance out of his voice. “While it’s true, one should never let gossip affect one’s actions, one does have to take into account what sort of response those actions will prompt.”

“The people will gossip, the council will fuss, and the corps will grumble and get over it. There’s nothing new to any part of this scenario. What’s done is done.” To emphasize, she stamped her seal onto the final document. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ the one with cold feet?”

Her smile was teasing and Salome looked away, fighting the irrational urge to blush.

“No, of course not,” he managed after a moment. “I stand beside you whatever you decide.”

\--

“Nine?” the Lord Minister echoed, glancing at the paper as if he hadn’t read it correctly. “Captain are you sure? Nine First-Lieutenants? Courtmartialed?”

“Yes, milord,” Lady Chris returned calmly. “Five will be retiring with full honors, the other four are undergoing conduct inquiries as we speak.”

“What on earth for?”

“It has come to my attention that they have not been fulfilling their duties as knights of Zexen,” was her rather vague reply. “Don’t worry, we are dealing with it in an appropriate manner.”

“But nine at once! Lady Lightfellow, I must say this looks a bit...peculiar.”

“The matter would have been brought to the council beforehand, but I myself have only recently been made aware.” Chris slid him a second folio of documents across the expanse of the smooth round table. “I believe you will find everything in order.”

The Lord Minister opened the leather folder and flipped through the many pages within. “It all appears to be regulation. I assume you have replacements in mind?”

“Yes, milord,” Chris nodded. “All seasoned veterans with unblemished records. I believe you will find the high command’s choices satisfactory.”

“Very well, Captain. We will review your nominations and notify you when we have made our decision.”

Nodding, Chris saluted and left the room.

\--

“Are you mad?” It was the first time her strategist had ever shouted at her. “Why in Saidie's name did you submit the paperwork _before_ appointing the Lady Guard?”

Chris blinked at him in perplexity. “I was following procedure.”

Salome made a frustrated noise and rubbed his face with both hands. “Lady… Think for a moment about what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” she retorted sharply. “Any decision I make as commander of the Zexen army is mine to make, but I must notify the Council of any changes that I make.”

“Yes, but there is no rule about _when_ you are to notify them.”

This caught her up short, a sudden sense of dread pooling in her stomach.

“None of the names you submitted for promotion are going to be familiar to the Council. They’re going to assume you are hand-picking these women for ulterior reasons. This will come across as you cleaning house, not of slipshod officers, but of honest men of good name and social standing and replacing them with common harlots!”

“Salome!” she gasped, jumping to her feet. “How dare you!”

“I do not hold such beliefs myself, milady,” he said with a bow, by way of an apology. “But that is what this will look like to both the Council and the public. This is what I meant when I asked you if you were prepared to accept the consequences.”

With a sigh, she shook her head at herself, feeling horribly foolish. “Yes, I am prepared. I just hope I haven’t made things even more difficult for everyone else.”

\--

It was not uncommon to see a small cloud of dust rising from the practise court. Such a phenomenon, however, rarely occurred in the barracks, particularly those cordoned off for the female soldiers. An unholy racket of angry shrieks and battle oaths was coming from one of the rooms occupied by the officers. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at a safe distance, marveling at cat fight that had broken out among the Sergeant-Captains. Not waiting for explanation, Leo waded into the fray.

“See here!” he bellowed, doing his best to restrain at least four women from tearing each other apart. “Stop this at once!” Rather than obey, however, one of them caught him under the jaw with her fist. Blinking at the sudden constellations, Leo stumbled back several paces and into the wall.

“You!” the word was spat, half sob, half curse. “This is _your_ fault!”

Shaking the stars away, Leo blinked a second time. Aurella stood in front of him, dressed in civilian clothes, her fist still raised.

“The hell it is!” a second voice cut in. “You’re the only traitor here.”

“Say that to my face!” Aurella growled, rounding on the speaker. Dame Henrietta- Leo recognized the boyish haircut- took a step back but did not retreat.

“Traitor!” she shrieked. “If not for you and your beau-” she stabbed an accusing finger at Leo- “we none of us would be facing court martial!”

“Wait, what?” It was all Leo could manage under the circumstances. “Slow down. What’s happened.”

“ _This_ is what’s happened!” turning, Aurella slapped a piece of paper against his chest, hard enough to make him double forward slightly. Taking it, he scanned the few lines it contained. Horror dropped cold and empty into his stomach like a bucket into a well.

“We’re all to lose our jobs, our pension, our dignity,” Aurella told him, voice constricted with either tears or anger, it was hard to tell. “I should have told you ‘no’, I should have… should have…”

She couldn’t finish. With a Herculean swallow, she turned her back on him and bent to pick up a small sack that was lying on the floor. Siezing the opportunity, Dame Henrietta stepped forward, fist raised, evidently intending to land another blow.

“Enough!” Leo barked, making all of them stop short and look at him.

“Ladies, I assure this was not my intention.”

“The hell it wasn’t!” Dame Henrietta would have gone on, but Leo raised a quieting hand.

“I ask you one day. Let me get to the bottom of this. Please. I owe you that much.”

As one the women exchanged glances and then nodded. Aurella alone continued to stare at the floor.

\--

The Remembrance Day ceremonies long concluded, there were so many flowers and trinkets covering Sir Galahad’s tomb that it looked like a small hill of wildflowers. By contrast, however, several graves had been more than overlooked by the groundskeepers. Where once rose bushes had stood before plain slate headstones, there lay little more than a tangle of trampled branches and scattered petals and a small heap of gravel.

“This is my doing,” Lady Chris whispered. “I tried to repay them and instead...this.”

“It was not your fault, milady,” Leo told her, evidently attempting to soothe her anger. Chris, however, knew better. Clutching the court martial in one hand, she shook her head.

“No, Leo. I must accept responsibility for this. Salome tried to warn me. I didn’t comprehend the seriousness of my decisions. Now the Lady Guard has paid for it.”

“They don’t have to,” Leo told her gently, resting one massive hand on her shoulder. “Surely there is something we can do to correct this?”

Scrubbing her face with her sleeve, Chris nodded. “No, you’re right. I am Captain General. I will not see things left as they are. Summon the rest of the High Command. We’ll just have to move the timetable up a bit, that’s all.”

\--


	15. Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a few things are finalized.

There was a whole world in which he had no part; not simply because it was made up of subordinate officers. It was a world of women. Not just Aurella, but a good many other women were stranded below rank, much lower than they should be. Ordinarily formal requests went up the chain of command, but in this instance, they would have to go down.

“Lady,” he began, knowing full well the woman had no such title. She turned and blinked at him, her expression a mix of bogglement and annoyance.

“Lord Gallen,” she said, giving him a crisp salute. “How may I be of assistance?”

He returned salute, wanting to show as much respect to these women as possible. A few others had stopped what they were doing and had turned their attention toward him.They were not, as was widely commented, in the least bit pretty. Their uniforms, while spotlessly clean, bore signs of long wear and daily use. Little enough showed of their bodies, and while some were tall, and others short; some stout, some slender, all of them were strong and sturdy. There was a grace and handsomeness to their movements, and a sureness in their stature. Pretty, no, but certainly attractive in their own way.

“Dame…”

“Belinda, my Lord,” she answered, facing him at attention.

“Dame Belinda, I would like a word with you, and perhaps your sisters.”

She blinked, taking a moment to realize he meant the rest of the Lady Guard. Instantly her body tensed, her throat tightening. Good heavens, she was expecting some sort of reprimand!

“You will not be denied the promotion,” he assured her. “Indeed, I am not sure how we’ll ever manage to make it up to you.” He sighed and actively resisted the urge to twiddle his fingers to relieve his nerves. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back. Not all of Aurella’s cohort was assembled in the practise yard, but most of them were here. Deciding there was nothing else for it, he plowed ahead.

“I would like to ask you something.”

“Sir,” Dame Belinda prompted, relaxing slightly, but only just. Leo chewed his lower lip for a moment, feeling that facing Aurella’s blood relations would be infinitely less terrifying.

“I intend to ply my suit to Dame Aurella, once all of you have received your due commendations.”

All of them openly stared.

“If it’s alright with you,” he added, feeling even more foolish.

The female knights exchanged confused glances.

“See here,” a squat old dame with an eyepatch and her hair done incongruously in plaited pigtails marched up to him. Leo got the distinct impression of facing down an angry bulldog. “I will not have you make a mockery of us. We know who and what we are. I’ll give no answer until well _after_ I’ve seen some results from the higher up’s!”

“Danielle!” Belinda said sharply.

“I won’t have him making a spectacle of her!”

“I assure you, that is not my intent!” Leo spoke up. “On my honor as a knight of Zexen…”

The looks they gave him were decidedly unimpressed. Shifting awkwardly, he hefted his axe from its place at his hip. Resting the head against the hard-packed earth, he steadied the handle with both hands.

“I swear to you, upon my axe, that no harm shall come to Dame Aurella. I give my word: I seek only to win her heart and if possible, your trust. I give you my solemn oath, I ask no more than that.”

The women blinked, each weathered face a study in surprise. It had been a risky move, but Leo was glad he had done it. Each of these women had begun their careers bearing short axes. Out of all the high command, Leo alone fought with an axe, and by choice. He respected the weapon and, by association, them. Drawing together in a close knot, the women whispered, evidently deciding what was to be done.

“You are brave, Lord Gallen,” Dame Belinda said at last. “Brave and foolish.”

“I am told the two often go together, Lady,” he told her with a smile. This earned him a laugh.

“Very well. Ply your suit, only know that you’ll have us to deal with should you break your oath.”

Putting a hand to his heart, he bowed. “I expect no less.”

\--

As a young man, his mother and various other guardians and mentors had introduced him to dozens, if not hundreds, of eligible young ladies. They were all of them nice-looking, and nice-mannered, and that was really all that he could remember about the vast majority of them. Too many had only been interested in his money, in owning his family estate, in being married to a high-ranking officer. He wondered if they really understood what being married to a knight would involve? Most of them seemed to be under the impression that he would spend all his time jousting, or hunting dragons, or singing ballads to them while they lounged out a tower window. The truth, as he’d tried to explain several times, was infinitely more prosaic.

“I’ll be gone for much of the time,” he’d cautioned one of the young ladies. Lavinia, her name had been. She had been pretty enough, with dark hair and equally dark large, doe-like eyes. However, he’d wondered if she’d heard a word he’d said. All she would do was smile prettily and nod, barely saying a word. “I won’t be about to keep you company. I’ll be at Brass Castle, or in the field. It can be lonely in the country. It isn’t like being in town.”

Lavinia had smiled, nodded, and batted her eyes. Inwardly, Leo sighed.

What truly puzzled him was that while he grew older, none of his potential wives seemed to age a day. Already on the other side of forty, he could not understand why people kept introducing him to young ladies barely out of their teens. Surely he was too old for them? Weren’t there widows or spinsters closer to him in years that would be glad of a husband? Perhaps even glad of one who would not be about to get underfoot and interfere with the managing of their own affairs? No, everyone would tell him, do you want to leave your estate to a stranger’s children? Or worse yet, have none of your own? A woman his own age would not be suitable for bearing sons, and so they kept flinging teenagers at him. It was damnably awkward to say the least.

He honestly didn’t mind being a bachelor. As a soldier, he was hardly alone, and the work suited him. It wasn’t until his mother died that the reality had begun to truly sink in. He supposed he’d have to start thinking about marriage- or at least naming an heir- more seriously. But things kept happening, and the matter of his own succession kept getting pushed farther and farther back in his mind. He had never put much thought into finding a wife, and had certainly never thought to look for one so nearby.

The the Second Firebringer War had changed everything, and not in the usual trite and proasic way. All the things had changed. All of them. Zexen and Grassland were on speaking terms again, the True Runes went abroad once more, and Leo Gallen, consummate, crusty old bachelor, had found himself hopelessly in love.

Aurella had not been on the practise court, or anywhere else in the castle. Armed with this knowledge, Leo rode out to the only other place he could think of to find her. Her figure stood long and black against the fading light of the late afternoon sun. The sounds of pick and shovel met his ears as he approached. Aurella stood and watched motionless as the groundskeepers eased the new white stone of Hazel’s marker into the freshly-dug slot. Unlike the bare shard of slate that had once marked her resting place, the pristine granite bore her name- her full name- regiment, and the pictogram of her rank as a knight: a crossed sword and battleaxe upon a shield. A nobleman’s marker would have born a pair of crossed swords, but when she and the others had finally been knighted, common-born women had not been allowed to carry such weapons. For five years they had each carried a short, single-handed axe. At the time it had been a stigma, one of many, but now they took pride in the little curve-blade weapons. It had become their trademark and they had made it their own. It was no longer a stain of inequality but a mark of honor, their standard, the mascot of their sisterhood. Hazel had been among the first to fall, but she would be the last to be ignored.

Dismounting, Leo surveyed the grave for a moment himself. The rose bush, although badly crushed, was still alive and determinedly blossoming if only from a few of its gnarled branches. Stooping, he placed his own offering of field flowers upon the grave before standing and saluting. At long last, Aurella looked up at him, her eyes ringed and red, but without any trace of tears.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said. All he could say. Aurella regarded him and nodded.

“I suppose I should have expected it,” she said flatly. “Your only fault is you sense of honor. It never entered your head that we’d be court martialed before we could be promoted.”

“No,” he agreed, shame-faced. “I confess it did not. I’m sorry for causing you so much grief.”

She nodded stiffly, accepting. “Thank you.”

“I hope,” Leo went on, feeling horribly awkward, “that my oversight will not damage your opinion of me?”

At this she looked up, perplexity plain on every line of her face. “What on earth are you on about?”

“My feelings for you have not changed.” There. He’d said it. Aurella looked surprised if no less confused, and so he pressed on. “If you do not feel the same, I understand. I only ask for the chance to prove my merit. Once we are on equal footing, it would be my greatest honor to pay you court-- unless of course you’d rather I didn’t.”

For a long and very horrible moment she was silent, staring up at him in utter disbelief. Leo did his best not to grimace, to simply hold her gaze and will her to say something, anything, even if her answer was only to laugh in his face. Abruptly she looked down, something like a chuckle escaping her lips. Leo’s heart sank. Goddess, she _was_ laughing at him. When she looked up again, tears had pooled in her eyes. One slipped down and across her cheek. With one hand she wiped it away.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” she told him with a shake of her head and a smile. Reaching, he took her hand and was rewarded as her smiled widened.

“No,” Leo agreed, her smile mirrored with his own. “I do not.”

\--


	16. Above and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things finally come full circle.

This day had been a long time coming. Chris Lightfellow was proud to have had a hand in it. Nine women, each old enough to be her mother, marched smartly up the wide stone steps and into Brass Castle’s great hall. For years they’d worn the same, increasingly shabby Sergeant Captain’s uniforms with barely a medal or honor to distinguish them. Today, however, they were fitted in handsome new uniforms soon to bear their new rank of First-Lieutenant, their bosoms crowded with what the soldiers commonly called “tinware”.

Very fittingly, Chris felt, Aurella led her comrades into the hall, the galleries and ambulatory already crowded with spectators. The Lady Guard still carried an air of infamy, though many of them had gone gray or even white-headed. Most of them were reaching retirement age, but Chris had the feeling they wouldn’t abandon their posts as quickly as one might expect. They had worked too hard and waited too long for this. She, for one, was willing to have them for as long as they saw fit.

The women lined up, a short row considering there had once been twenty-six young women in ranks. Seventeen had been knighted, and far later than they ever should have been. Only nine remained, age-worn and battle-scarred, standing proudly before the assembled brass and nobility. Upon Chris’s insistence, the galleries had been opened for the common citizens. A few of these women still had family living, and it seemed only right that they witness the honors their sisters and aunts had so long been denied.

Ordinarily a promotion in ranks was not a great occasion for much outside of individual or family celebration. However, the only family most of the Lady Guard had was here at Brass Castle. Besides, a leap from Sergeant Captain to First-Lieutenant was nothing to sneeze at. Because of the jump in rank, and because their original knighting ceremony had been so badly botched, Chris had determined to make this event well worth the wait. Mounting the steps to face her new officers, Chris couldn’t help a brief smile.

“Ladies,” she began, addressing not the assembled crowd, but soon-to-be titled women standing at attention before her, “for too long your service has gone unrecognized and unrewarded. The people of Zexen have not been aware of your courage, valor, and unwavering loyalty toward them. For many years your only reward has been anonymity and neglect. On behalf of the Zexen Federation, the Zexen Council, the Zexen National Army, and the Order of Zexen Knights, I offer our most sincere and profound apologies.”

There was a smattering of polite applause, and as one, the Lady Guard dipped their heads in acceptance. One of the grizzled old dames even cast her a surreptitious wink and Chris had to bite her lip to maintain her composure. On cue, each of the knight’s respective squires stepped forward. Each bore a flat cushion with an officer’s insignia and a length of deep blue ribbon resting upon it.

Chris had intended to begin alphabetically, but at the last moment, had opted to reverse the order of presentation. It seemed only fitting that the knight who began all this should finish it. Therefore, she walked slowly down the length of the line, as if examining the women for inspection, eventually drawing even with the last woman at the end.

“Lady Maureen Wilhough,” she began, saluting and receiving salute. Lady Wilhough, like Percival, had made her nickname into her surname. As long and lanky as a willow tree, she was the tallest of the Lady Guard, and was better with a bow than she was with a sword. Her red-gold hair twisted back in a characteristic bun, a few curly tendrils escaped to frame her narrow face.

“Zexen thanks you for your distinguished service of thirty-five years. For outstanding service and exemplary conduct, we hereby promote you First-Lieutenant, Archery.” Taking the insignia from its cushion, Chris pinned it neatly above the other medals that crowded the other woman’s breast. Exchanging salutes again, she moved on to the next woman in line.

Lady Katharine Brancon, a bulldog of a woman, stood no taller than Chris but was twice as broad. Although awarded a sword, she’d clung to her short axe and had the distinction of having stood alone at the Battle of Long Grass, hewing down enemy troops as if they were no more than stalks of wheat. She had held the line virtually single-handed until help could arrive.

Lady Henrietta Morton, whose blond hair had faded to platinum, had fingers missing on her right hand, the empty recesses of her glove stuffed with cotton wool. She had been captured by Harmonian forces, suffered torture, but had escaped and returned to Zexen with valuable information. Without her, that particular arc of battles might have been lost.

Lady Elizabeth Karmon, Madam Doctor, had transferred laterally mid-way through her career. At the Battle of Shallow Water, she had left off from the direct assault and instead turned to defend those who had fallen in battle. Laying down her weapon, she had personally carried dozens back behind Zexen lines and then assisted in treating and binding their injuries. She had become permanently attached to the infirmary after that, putting her girlhood skills as an herbalist to excellent use.

Lady Danielle Dorton, incongruously, wore her long, raven-black hair in braids like a girl but had a leathery face and a patch over her missing eye. Squat and stocky, she was not what came to mind when one thought of the word “spy”. On more than one occasion she had wheedled secrets out of those who would keep them hidden. She had lost her eye in a bar fight of all things, though the fight had been with Harmonian mercenaries. She had won by burning the pub down.

Lady Colleen Calhoun had had her tongue cut out but still managed to make herself understood. Her promotion would put her in charge of the Signal Corps, Carrier Pigeons, and other army dispatches. She herself had been a messenger and scout, sneaking past enemy lines to deliver documents and information. No longer would her silence go unrewarded.

Lady Blair Willard did not look anything like a knight, or much like a woman in her fifties. Of middling height with a curvaceous figure and smooth taffy brown hair, she would have cut an elegant figure as a noblewoman. However, she had a sharp tongue and sharper sword skills. When on horseback she was nigh unstoppable. Too many men had admired her girlish face and thought her an easy target, only to be cut down seconds later. The Battle of Shallow Waters had seen her take up command when her commanding officer had fallen, driving enemy troops back from a dangerously thin point in the Zexen line. Sadly, she had been unable to keep her field commission as part of the Cavalry. Chris had seen to it she would have it back.

Lady Belinda Brennon was darker than the other knights. Rumored to be a mix of Zexen and Karayan blood, she had proved a strangely valuable ally in recent years. With her swarthy skin and grizzled gray hair, she didn’t look much like a diplomat, but her easy manner and understanding of foreign cultures had earned her respect and esteem among other nations even if her own had ignored her.

And of course, there was Lady Aurella Dancon, soon to be Madam Gallen unless Chris missed her guess. If not for Aurella and Leo’s budding romance, probably no one would have known about the long neglect suffered by the Lady Guard, nor of the spirit and valor of these women. Tall and proud, Lady Dancon stood with a slight lift to her chin, her posture as determined and unflinching as the woman herself. Yet she had a surprisingly soft heart beneath her no-nonsense demeanor. It was Aurella who had made it her personal responsibility to look out for the new recruits, particularly the female cadets who joined ranks. Beneath the notice of her commanding officers, she had conducted her own crusade for the equality and respect that she had never enjoyed herself. Chris had to stretch slightly to pin the First-Lieutenant insignia on her breast.

Stepping back, she saluted the women who returned salute. A chorus of applause followed. At this juncture a few more words would usually be said before the guard was changed and the new First-Lieutenants were formally dismissed. However, Chris was not yet finished. Motioning to the Six Mighty Knights as well as three others selected for the occasion who had once served as squires to freshly-knighted Lady Guard, Chris took her place in line with them next to the squires. A brief flicker of surprise registered on Aurella’s face as Chris stepped down one, giving Leo her spot. The tall knight didn’t quite manage to hide a smile behind his beard. Stifling her own smile, Chris spoke:

“There is one more honor that Zexen wishes to bestow upon our renowned Lady Guard. Truly, you are among Zexen’s bravest soldiers. The first of many women admitted to ranks, you paved the way for the rest of us, leveling the path and setting the standard for which all knights- both men and women- should strive to obtain.”

Taking the length of ribbon from the cushion, Chris arranged it in her hands. A circle of gold stamped with a crossed sword and short axe weighed heavily on the strip of satin. The cypher had been the Lady Guard’s unofficial insignia for years, having even been carved upon the headstones of those who had fallen in battle.

“The title of Lady Guard, is henceforth elevated to Meritorious Status that shall be awarded to women only. Women such as these, who have fought tirelessly for freedom, equality, and justice.”

Chris knotted the ribbon around Lady Brennon’s left arm at the narrow spot just above her bicep. Looking up into her astonished almond-shaped eyes, she thought she detected a brief bob at her collar as the older woman swallowed hard. Chancing a glance to one side, Chris swallowed herself at the sight of Leo, banding a favor about the arm of his own Lady champion. Neither smiled, not with their lips, but with their eyes spoke words too deep and numerous to articulate.

As one, she and the other knights stepped back and saluted as the crowd looked on, utterly silent. This was just as well, for Chris’s voice had been suddenly rendered soft and horse.

“May we all serve as valiantly as you have.”

Placing on hand over her heart, Chris bowed low, lower than ever she had before either the council or visiting dignitaries. There was a vague gasp from the onlookers, as the other knights selected to bestow this honor not only bowed, but dropped to one knee. A muffled sob and a heart-felt cry pierced the silence, and Chris was certain the sounds had come from the gallery. Slowly, the soft pat-pat of single applause filtered from somewhere at the back of the room. The noise grew and grew until a thunderous cheer of many hands, voices, and whistles echoed off the stone walls of the great hall. It continued for many minutes, even as the Lady Guard turned and saluted the assembly, and the Mighty Knights stood.

\--

This was one ball Chris didn’t mind attending. Despite the usual presence of high-ranking officers and nobility, there was a decidedly more relaxed atmosphere. There were far more military uniforms than gowns. This alone made Chris feel much more at home than she might have otherwise.

There were many less elevated families in attendance as well. Dressed in their feast day best, they still made an odd swatch of neutral against the more colorful gentry. Those of the Lady Guard who had family stood surrounded by sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews. There didn’t seem to be any parents that Chris could see. Nor did she see Aurella or Leo, come to think of it. Automatically, Chris tilted her chin, scanning for the highest heads in the crowd. Roland stood out, of course, as did the handful of other Elves that had positions within the Zexen army. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief flicker of dark brown and she turned just in time to see the two knights exit out one of the side doors.

She made to follow them, but a hand caught her arm. Looking up, she blinked at Salome who gave her a wry smile.

“Really,” he chided, “would you interrupt their first few hours of freedom together?”

To her everlasting annoyance, Chris felt her cheeks burn. Still, Salome’s smile was infectious and she couldn’t help the grin slowly spreading across her face.

“No indeed,” she answered, gladly placing a hand on his offered arm.

\--

The spring air, though cooler now the sun had set, carried the promise of greater warmth on its gentle currents. Leo was struck by a sense of nostalgia, remembering a time several seasons ago when they had stood on the battlements in silence rather than brave the merry chaos of the Fool’s Day ball.

“Congratulations, Lady Dancon,” Leo said with a smile, taking both her hands and facing her. “The honors were too long in coming.”

“Thank you,” she replied, the muscles in her cheeks twitching a bit as she grinned up at him. Dropping one hand, she briefly massaged her face.

“Something wrong?” Leo asked, concerned.

“Mph, no,” she answered behind her hand and then suddenly laughed. “I’ve been smiling all day and my face hurts!”

Leo couldn’t help laughing at this, making Aurella laugh as well.

“Dammit, you’re not helping!” she gasped, which only made it worse. After a minute or two, however, they both quieted, and Leo dared to step forward and take her hands again.

“Do I have permission, then?” he asked. “If it please my Lady, may I ply my suit?”

The expression these words conjured was not one he’d seen before. It rendered her face strangely soft and tender, her dark eyes large and doe-like in the darkness. Plumbing the depths of those bottomless eyes, Leo didn’t notice as she hooked her fingers on the collar of his breastplate. Gently, slowly, she pulled him down until their lips touched. He blinked, having not expected this, and gave a brief grunt of surprise. The hand that pulled his armor reached up and around, her fingers coming to rest on the back of his neck. Smiling, Leo tilted his chin for a better angle, cupping her cheek with one hand. Somewhere between kisses, he got his answer. It had been well worth waiting for.

\--

Chris could not remember enjoying a ball quite so much. The apparently obligatory fist-fight aside, it had gone very well and she was more than ready to collapse into bed. However, a knock on the door stopped her in mid-flop. With a groan, she dragged herself back to her feet. Glad that she was still dressed, she went to open the door.

“Ladies,” she blinked, and stood aside to admit the nine knights on the other side of her door. “Come in, please.”

“I apologize for disturbing you so late, Lady,” Aurella apologized.

“We didn’t want to make a spectacle,” Lady Brancon added.

“Spectacle?” echoed Chris.

“You gave us back our honor today,” Aurella continued. “The Lady Guard are now to be envied and admired, something none of us has ever had much experience in.”

There was a muted ripple of laughter among the women.

“For this, we thank you.” Turning to one of her companions, Aurella took the object in her hands and presented it to Chris. “This belonged to Lady Hazel Chevalier, first of us to leave this earth. She did not live to bear a sword. I ask that you keep this for her, and use it at your need. Remember us, and the humble place at which we started.”

Silently, Chris held out her hands. The weapon Aurella placed in them was long and heavy, the stout wooden handle weighted at one end by a short, double-bladed axe head tipped with a squat spike. It was graceful in its simplicity, well-oiled and still sharp despite its age and lack of use. Swallowing hard on a lump in her throat, Chris hefted it more comfortably in her hands, as if preparing to use it.

“Thank you,” she managed. “I will strive to be worthy of this honor.”

Aurella smiled at her, and Chris noticed the older woman’s eyes had become damp. She rested a heavy hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, and Chris felt no accolade she could receive would ever surpass the approval of these nine women.

“You already are.”

\--


	17. Harts and Hinds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue

For once, Lady Chris was spared the annual headache of finding a female escort. It wasn’t that she didn’t look forward to the yearly hunting party at the Gallen family manor- indeed, she quite enjoyed it- but selecting a female squire to accompany her always made her feel horribly as if she were making one friend and a hundred enemies. The competition to carry her luggage and air her laundry for the weekend was absurd; last year’s contention had actually resulted in several fist-fights. It was therefore a profound relief to know that she would be spared that particular decision. Lady Dancon- soon-to-be Madam Gallen- would be accompanying the Six Mighty Knights instead.

It felt a bit strange to have Leo’s tall fiance riding off to one side. Chris had never seen the older woman out of uniform. Her elevation in rank- and therefore pay- had allowed her to procure a few new sets of clothes that did not resemble Zexen military garb. Her costume might have masculine origins, but was tailored to fit the curves of a woman’s body. Like Chris she sported tall riding boots and deerskin leggings. Rather than short jacket, however, she wore a handsome tailored frock coat of deep blue. Beneath the coat peeked the points of a dark-colored waistcoat; at her collar a knot of pure white cloth. On her head she wore a black felt hat tilted at a fashionable angle and adorned with a single short plume.

She did not offer much in the way of conversation, but replied politely when asked a direct question. Leo had gone ahead a day in advance to make sure the house was ready. Perhaps that was why Lady Dancon preferred to keep her silence, having no great experience with four of the Six Mighty Knights? It probably didn’t help, Chris realized upon further reflection, that the younger men had trained under Lady Dancon and were therefore both still vaguely afraid of her. Chris bit her lip to stifle the smile this prompted.

The ride to Gallen manor was not particularly long, but the route somewhat circuitous, looping as it did the outer walls of inland Zexen and skirting the river before leaping across and into the fields and forests that were protected by the Gallen family name. Leo was waiting at the gate to greet them, looking strangely out-of-character and yet not, dressed as he was in a hunting jacket and heavy boots. Having seen her officers so rarely in anything but uniform, it was still a mild shock for Chris to see them in civilian clothes; stranger still to see them in formal dress.

Knowing better than to help her down, Leo did the gentlemanly thing and held the reins of her mount as Chris dismounted. Aurella, however, did not slap Leo’s hand away as he reached- not just for her hand- but to lift her down from the saddle, his strong hands nearly spanning her waist. He held her for a moment, both of them smiling foolishly at the other. Chris- caught somewhere between alarm and amusement- thought they might kiss, and breathed an odd little sigh of relief as Aurella squeezed Leo’s biceps and stepped back. The pair of them pivoted on the spot, the maneuver reminding Chris of a dance hold or perhaps a combative block, resulting in both of them standing side-by-side with Aurella’s arm nestled in the crook of Leo’s elbow. It wasn’t until Roland’s dry tone interrupted her thoughts that Chris remembered her fellow officers were still there.

“Taking notes, gentlemen?” The Elf’s usually bland expression had taken on a decided smirk. Borus and Percival stood staring rather stupidly after Leo and his Lady, jaws dangling. Even Salome’s expression seemed to indicate that he felt slightly outclassed. Deciding to indulge him, Chris crossed the dusty courtyard and tucked her hand under his arm.

“Come on, or they’ll forget all about us.”

\--

Gallen Manor looked...less shabby than Chris remembered. Perhaps Leo had decided to have it spruced up in preparation for his Lady wife. Granted they’d only been engaged for a few months, but Chris had her doubts as to how long they would hold out. As one of the Six Mighty Knights, it was assumed Leo would have an atrociously formal state wedding. The only people dreading such an occasion more than Chris herself were Leo and Aurella. Either way, everything had been freshly polished, several of the carpets either cleaned or replaced, and Chris thought the color of the upholstery on a few of the chairs had changed since the last time she’d visited.

Leo bid them to make themselves at home, and indicated that they’d each have the same room as always. Chris could see the unspoken tease in Percival’s eyes and she shot him a warning look before he could shove his foot down his throat. The young knight swallowed whatever he’d been planning to say and gave his commander his most innocent look. Chris rolled her eyes and went to put away her things.

There would be no hunt tonight, only a friendly supper with everyone to fill the long table in the dining room. There was, of course, one minor change. Aurella sat at Leo’s right hand; the Lady of the manor’s seat. Although technically not yet mistress of the grand old house, Aurella took her seat as a queen to a throne. Chris sat next to her with Salome on her other side, Borus and Percival facing them, and Roland opposite Leo at the end of the table.

“Seven is a lucky number,” Roland remarked halfway through the soup course, “but it does make an unbalanced table.”

“Yes, a great pity,” Leo agreed. “Still, at least the boys have a bit of extra elbow room.” He nodded at Borus and Percival who exchanged looks of vague annoyance.

“I’m certain Louis would be happier sitting at the table than waiting on one, but he’s still too young,” Chris added. Her squire had been in raptures at being included on the trip at all.

“Perhaps another handsome lady?” Roland suggested. “To sit between them?”

Leo’s laugh was loud and free, the others joining in. “Now Roland,” he admonished gently, “have a heart.”

“I don’t know, Sir Roland raises a valid point,” Lady Aurella spoke up, setting down her goblet. “I can think of any number of young women who would suit either of them very well. I believe young Lady Corrine would find Sir Borus especially charming.”

Borus blinked and sputtered, trying vainly to protest as Percival snorted wine, choosing the wrong moment to try to laugh.

“On second thought, no,” Aurella reconsidered. “No I don’t think you’d be a good match for her at all. Especially not one so openly devoted to his Captain as you.”

Borus’s mouth opened and closed several times without result. Eventually he scowled red-cheeked at his plate, apparently at a loss for words. Percival, still coughing into his napkin, did not supply further comment.

Roland, Chris decided, had had an excellent idea. Perhaps she ought to take notes?

\--

Hunting parties might be primarily male events at other households, but at Gallen manor, everyone was welcome. Still, Chris was annoyed to find that the men had left her behind. The light filtering through the opaque round lenses of her window was still weak and feeble, as if the sun itself were loath to leave its bed. Cursing to herself, she hurried into her clothing. In the act of climbing into her stays, she jumped at a knock on her door.

“You awake, Lady?” It was Lady Dancon.

“Yes, why didn’t-- Wait, what are you still doing here?” Chris called through the closed door, still fumbling with her laces.

“It’s tradition, milady,” Lady Dancon sounded amused. “The men inhale their eggs and sausage and then go out to grub in the dew and the dirt. The ladies follow along later at a sensible hour once the grass has dried and with a picnic lunch.”

Chris couldn’t help laughing at that as she threw on trousers and jacket. “And I suppose we count as ladies?”

“I dare say we do,” her smirk was audible, then visible as Chris opened the door. “Care for some breakfast, or shall we head out? We can bring sandwiches if you’d rather leave now.”

“Let’s do that,” Chris nodded, “I won’t have them hogging all the fun.”

\--

Riding quietly down the trail indicated by the gamekeeper next to Lady Dancon was not uncomfortable, yet Chris felt she ought to say something. The light filtered yellow and green through the canopy, creating slanting patterns and making fairies of the dust motes that hung in the air.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lady Dancon said softly. “It feels strange sometimes, thinking about all this, seeing it in person. It doesn’t feel quite real.”

Chris looked up, head tilted to one side. Lady Dancon, strangely, blushed and briefly looked away.

“Excuse me, Lady Lightfellow, it’s just that I expect to wake up at any moment…”

“...and all of this will be gone,” Chris finished. The older woman nodded.

“It’s like a fairy story.”

“A long one,” Chris added. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long for your happily ever after.”

Lady Dancon laughed. “Hardly that. Life is far from perfect, but I’ve done far better than I ever thought I would, thanks largely to you, Lady Lightfellow.”

“Please,” despite the fact that Lady Dancon tended to say ‘Lady Lightfellow’ in the same tone as many a grandmother said ‘poppet’, she waved the title away. “Just ‘Chris’ is fine.”

“And so is ‘Aurella’.”

\--

The gamekeeper had promised at least two deer and possibly a boar. Leo had opted for the deer, as the herd was becoming too large for their habitat, choosing to hold off on the wild swine until later in the year. As such the wooded copse was deeper within the forest than the low bushes and high grass closer to the farm lands. No path existed here, and the horses had to tread delicately through the thick foliage. Chris shifted the quiver weighting her shoulder. She’d heard crossbows or even rifles were becoming popular for hunting, but that hardly seemed fair. With a longbow, one had to rely on keen sights and strong arms. Bringing down a deer, even with the aid of dogs, was a supposed to be a feat that only a few could manage. Adding a spring-loaded crossbow or a firearm rather defeated the purpose, to her mind. Traditionally, it was the men who did the shooting and not the women, but such had rarely been the case at Gallen Manor. After all, it hardly seemed fair to exclude the Captain from half the exercise. Indeed, Chris didn’t care much for bludgeoning, herself. It took a stronger arm than she possessed to kill a wounded buck with one blow.

The other knights were just visible between the trees, primarily as shapes and shadows on the other side of the dim clearing. Roland and Leo were easy enough to distinguish, but Salome, Borus, and Percival were difficult to tell apart at such a length. Aurella, she knew, was off to her right somewhere, but her shape was indistinct. There was no sound outside of the creaking of branches in the low breeze, and the distant barking of Leo’s dogs. The barking, she realized, was growing louder, accompanied by the noise of cloven hooves on hard-packed earth. Raising her bow and nocking an arrow, Chris squinted through the tree trunks. It was likely she’d only get one shot, and had to be sure she’d hit the deer and not one of her friends.

The ground trembled slightly under the weight of the hart’s hooves and the hounds’ many paws. Chris turned in the saddle and readied her bow as the deer bounded toward the clearing. The deer, however, seemed to have other ideas. Chris spied his glossy coat and crown of antlers as he briefly skirted the shafts of sun that pierced the canopy into the open land. According to Leo the buck was old and wary of the humans who invaded his wood. He probably knew all too well the scent of blood that haunted the clearing. Perhaps this was the reason he reared and turned on his hind legs, leaping not into the lawn of grass, but off to the right. The dogs followed, trying vainly to herd the beast into the open land. Chris brought her horse around, trying hard to track the creature through the maze of trees. He was large, she realized, much larger than she’d previously thought. No one killed a hart under the age of seven, but Leo’s gamekeeper had suggested the age of this buck might be closer to nine or ten. The creature bearing down on her, hounds snapping at his heels, was massive, nearly the size of an elk. Struggling to calm her mount and aim at the same time, Chris lifted her bow and fired. The hart reared, pawing the air like a stallion. Although her arrow struck its throat, the animal only bleated and tossed its head, evidently intent on goring her. There was a “swoosh” and a “thwack” and a second shaft protruded from its thick body. This arrow was lodged deep in its side, piercing its heart unless Chris missed her guess. Unwilling to fight the wounded animal, Chris gave her horse its head, letting it dance back and away enough to have space to defend itself. The hart, mercifully, seemed more interested in escape, and lumbered away as best it could, deeper into the forest. Chris heeled her mount, hurrying to give chase.

Two shots was more than enough to bring down the deer. Shooting it again wouldn’t do any good. The beast would run itself to exhaustion and keeping it in sight would be easier than tracking a trail of blood through a carpet of autumn leaves. Aurella, she noticed, had drawn nearly parallel with her, the others falling into formation behind them. The distant baying of the hounds could still be heard as they chased the deer to ground.

Riding through forest, even a tame one such as this, was not Chris’s idea of fun. Erfrierung could dodge roots and tree trunks easily enough on his own, but trying to keep an eye on the deer’s retreating tail and avoiding low-hanging branches was too much to do at once. There had been a memorable instance when, as a girl, a branch had gone under her criss-crossed braids and lifted her clean out of the saddle while her pony trotted on without her. She’d since abandoned the method of twining the two plaits around her head, but still worried about the double loops snagging on a too-low branch. For a moment she envied Aurella’s jaw-length hair and the simple leather band that held it out of her eyes. Over a head taller than Chris, the older woman rode with her body nearly flat against her horse’s neck, a trick Chris resolved to learn.

The baying was becoming louder, the splashes of blood more obvious on the forest floor. Reigning her mount to a jog, she drew back a bit, letting the others overtake her. She’d landed a successful shot, as had Aurella. Each of them carried arrows with different colored fletching. Leo’s color was yellow, Percival green, Borus blue, Salome black, and Roland gray. The men would be able to identify Aurella’s red and Chris’s white-fletched arrows sticking out of the deer’s body.

The doomed animal lay panting and exhausted, collapsed in a pile of leaves and blood. Chris always hated this part, the moments between shooting and putting the poor thing out of its misery. Still, the hart had led them on a good chase and had fought bravely, in his way. It was only right to give him a dignified end in which he didn’t suffer.

The others drew even with her, arranging themselves automatically in their usual spots just aside and behind her while still making room for Aurella. She brushed her short hair back from her face and looked pityingly at the dying deer. Leo was the last to arrive, his heavy charger not truly built for such close quarters as a mature wood. Although hardly sluggish, he seemed to take forever to dismount, a heavy cudgel in hand.

“Hurry up, can’t you?” Aurella asked. Chris silently agreed.

Stepping toward the animal, Leo approached carefully, club only partially raised. The deer was injured and tired, and while not carnivorous, could still cause a fair amount of damage to a man without armor. Lifting the club, Leo gave the customary remarks:

“A good hunt, and a good fight. The brave never truly die.”

There was teeth-clenching “thunk” and a dull “crack” that made Chris cringe and shut her eyes. After that, however, the tension evaporated. Now she could think of the dead creature not as alive, but as supper, a glorious roast with potatoes and onions that they would all tuck into after a hot bath and mulled wine.

“An excellent shot,” Chris complemented Aurella, finally remembering her manners.

“You as well.”

Chris returned the senior knight’s smile, feeling she’d earned a tremendous compliment.

On the ground, Leo was still busy with the deer. He’d already slit its throat, allowing the body to drain a bit before gutting it fully. He’d also slashed a small hole in its chest and, sleeves rolled to his elbows, crouched rummaging around in its insides. Chris knew what was coming. Normally this was her dubious honor as the only woman, regardless of who had shot the deer to begin with. Now, however, she was fairly sure she would not be receiving a gift this time, but didn’t mind in the least.

“The heart of the hart,” Leo declared. Holding the bloody muscle in a scrap of cloth above his head, a broken off bit of arrow still embedded in it. He nodded to his fiancee before handing it up to her. “May you hold it as closely as you hold mine.”

Aurella smiled, but, amazingly, did not blush at all. Chris resolved to ask her the secret of this achievement. Leo, meanwhile, had left off making calf eyes at his beloved and was rooting around in the deer carcass again. After a moment he stood and began slicing away at the slippery black object in his hand. Venison pate was something of an acquired taste, but after so many hunts, it was a treat Chris enjoyed more for the context than the actual taste. It was, as Molly had admonished her time and again, highly nutritious. Soft and still warm, it tasted primarily of vitamins and minerals, a strangely earthy and metallic taste that she probably would have refused at the dinner table, but swallowed happily here in the woods, after a hunt, surrounded by friends. It was tradition, and that, she felt, was all the reason it needed.

The gamekeeper and a few other tenants had appeared to complete the process of cleaning and dressing the deer. Wiping his arms with a towel, Leo turned and smiled.

“That’s a day’s work done. Shall we head home?”

It was the first time Chris had heard Leo say the word and mean it.

\--

After a hot bath which involved a linen-draped copper tub arranged before an open fire, Chris felt ready to socialize again. There was something about being tired and dirty that made her shun the company of others. She had heard sloshing on the other side of the wall, and figured Aurella was probably completing ablutions of her own. After dressing, Chris knocked on the door next to hers.

“Aurella?”

“Half a minute, please,” Aurella’s rich alto voice called from behind the thick wood.

“Don’t rush,” Chris assured her. “I just wondered if you were ready.”

“I am now.” The door opened, revealing Aurella, still red-cheeked and damp-haired from her own bath. Like Chris, she had opted for a simple skirt and blouse, accented by a waistcoat. Although Chris routinely wore plain skirts when not on duty, she was still getting used to seeing the elder knight in civilian attire. Her riding habit had been strange, but not out of character. The skirt, however, made Chris blink in perplexity.

“Do I really look so silly?” Aurella asked, actually looking mildly concerned. “I haven’t worn skirts in thirty years and I fear I may be out of practise.”

“You look fine,” Chris assured her, “I’ve just never seen you in skirts. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform before this.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Aurella remarked dryly, stepping past Chris and heading down the hall. Chris thought she knew what that reason was, and so didn’t inquire further.

“You look nice. Blue suits you.”

The older woman smiled, looking please. “Thank you. Why don’t you go down first so you can see the boys’ faces? If they’re half as shocked as you were, it’ll be well worth it.”

\--

The boys, as Aurella put it, had indeed been shocked. Well, Borus and Percival were shocked. Salome had blinked once or twice and Roland’s eyebrows had risen perhaps an inch. Leo alone smiled and stood, crossing the floor to meet them.

“Ladies,” he said, taking Aurella’s hand and motioning for Chris to make herself comfortable. “Please, join us.”

There were many comfortable chairs arranged around the mammoth stone fireplace. The mantle was level with Leo’s chin, and Chris could have easily stood inside its cavernous grate without hitting her head. Brass firedogs shaped like a hart and hind glowed red with the light and heat of the low fire within. Each of the single men had taken a newly-upholstered arm chair for themselves, leaving the sofa and cushioned bench for the two couples. Salome had already selected a seat at one end of the bench, and gestured for Chris to take the vacant spot next to him. Leo drew Aurella over to the sofa where she sat with surprising grace, arranging her skirts slightly and leaving just enough space between them. Perhaps it was the spiced wine, or the high spirits from a successful hunt, but Chris thought Borus and Percival both looked less cross and nervous than they had since arriving. Maybe it was because Aurella was no longer paying attention to them. Roland, however, still had a mischievous smile ghosting about his lips. Leaning back in the tall chair that was generally reserved for Leo, he seemed quite content.

They chatted idly about the hunt, Chris and Aurella receiving compliments for their marksmanship. There was some discussion as to whether or not they should go after the second deer the following day but, considering the size of today’s buck, it was eventually decided to wait for a later date. This was easy, far easier than sitting mutely in a fussy parlor surrounded by women and talk of gowns, gossip, and children. Aurella too, seemed able to talk freely, squeezing a word in here and there when she could.

“Anyone for cards?” she asked during a lull in the conversation. Chris blinked, her mind jumping to the fussy parlors again and painful memories of bridge and pinochle.

“That depends,” Percival replied, evidently experiencing similar thoughts. “Are we playing for straws?”

“Something like that,” Leo assured him, dumping a small bag of objects onto the table as Aurella shuffled a thick pack of cards. Knights were forbidden to gamble- with money, anyway- but that didn’t stop a large percentage of the cadre from frittering away their monthly pay. Rather than wager actual money, those who held their honor in higher esteem played for pleasure only, and used tokens or markers to notate points, the winner amassing only the right to boast. Leo’s bag of markers was delightfully mis-matched, including brass and pewter buttons, slices of antler, several flat pieces of bone or shell carved into the likeness of fish or animals, and a handful of discolored old ivory dice.

“I’ve been wondering where those had got to,” he remarked, picking out the dice and setting them aside.

“Whist? Lottery? One-in-Seven?” Aurella asked, suggesting a few games should anyone have a preference. Watching the older woman shuffle the deck deftly between her hands, Chris suddenly wasn’t so sure she wanted to play. Her suspicions proved to be right.

Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Salome, as tactician, was the best of all of them at cards. Despite playing a round of two or three different games, it almost always came down to him and Aurella, each determined not to be the first to blink. Both had amassed a healthy stack of trinkets, all of which now lay in a pile in the center. They had each drawn their last card several minutes ago, now it was down to who would be the first to give ground.

“I have noticed,” Salome said carefully, breaking the silence, “that you are always the last to lay down your cards in a game. Indeed, you haven’t backed down once.”

“I never back down,” Aurella replied cooly.

“Not even when you know you’re beaten?”

Aurella smiled thinly. “Especially if I know I’m beaten.”

Returning her closed-lipped smile, Salome gave a conciliatory nod and spread his cards on the table. After a moment, Aurella lay her cards down as well. There was laughing and cheering from the others, for though Aurella had lost miserably, no one would have known by her demeanor.

“A game well played,” Salome congratulated, reaching across the table to shake her hand.

“I am no strategist,” she said with a shrug.

“Perhaps not, but you are a better tactician that you might think.”

\--

“How are the wedding plans coming?” Salome asked once the cards had been cleared. Leo shuddered and rubbed his face.

“I don’t know. I’ve been procrastinating horribly. It sounds terrible to say, but I’ve been avoiding thinking about it.”

“I thought the preparations were the bride’s job?” Borus put in. “Flowers, cake, all that nonsense.”

“Do I look like the type to suffer ‘all that nonsense’?” Aurella asked rather crossly. “Where I’m supposed to dredge a dowry from, I’m sure I don’t know, and how the hell am I to pay for something like that? I’ve spent the last thirty years working off my father’s debts.”

“I’m sure he’s very grateful,” Percival attempted to soothe. Aurella shrugged and sipped her wine.

“I doubt it. He was dead before I joined service. A pity his debts didn’t die with him.”

There was an atrociously awkward pause.

“Well,” Borus dared to pierce the silence with a careful word, “it needn’t be all that grand. I mean, you’ll both be in uniform- or will you?”

Leo and Aurella exchanged rather puzzled looks.

“I’m not going to be frosted like a cake if you can go in parade dress,” she stated flatly.

“I would not expect you to,” Leo said gently, taking one of her hands in both of his. “I would not ask you to do something that I would not do myself.”

“It all seems an infernal fuss,” Roland remarked. All eyes turned to look at him. The Elf rarely spoke up and when he did, it was usually well worth listening. “Why not get married here?”

Leo looked down at Aurella, the epiphany clear on both their faces.

“Sanson!” Leo bellowed, not bothering to pull the bell cord. “Sanson!”

“Yes, my Lord?” the old steward answered, appearing in the doorway.

“Sanson, please send for the minister. There shall be a wedding in this house tonight.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord?” Sanson stammered, clearly flabbergasted.

“A wedding. Tonight. There’s no need to go to any fuss. Just send for the minister. We have witnesses, venison that needs eating, and I know for a fact Mrs. Bella has a cake tucked away somewhere.”

“But, my Lord,” the old steward insisted, “the state wedding…”

“Hang the state wedding,” Leo thundered. “I will be married in my own house like my father and his father before him! Let them find someone else to make a spectacle of.”

Aurella looked as if she would like to kiss her fiance right then and there. Chris hid a smile behind one hand.

“Very well, my Lord. I shall also send for the sheriff to file the necessary documents.”

“Excellent,” with a nod, Leo dismissed the old man. “Poor Sanson, I fear I’ve disappointed him somewhat.”

“I don’t know,” Aurella mused, “you’d think he’d be happy you’ll finally be married off. Besides, won’t he be happier if he’s able to witness the wedding himself? I can’t imagine the poor old dear making the trek to Brass Castle.”

“No indeed,” Leo agreed. “I’m sure he’ll be fine once he’s had time to think about it. It’ll all be far simpler, if a bit short notice.”

“Please tell me your tenants haven’t got any charmingly rustic wedding customs?” there was a note of trepidation in her voice. Leaning, Leo kissed her forehead.

“None that I know of, and if they invent some, we’ve got five Mighty Knights that will deal with them for us.”

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to quicksilver_ink for the original inspiration as well as all the beta read throughs. <3


End file.
